by Amy Hopkins
A blow to the gut made Bastian’s diaphragm spasm, then freeze. His mouth opened like a drowning fish as he tried to suck air back into his chest.
“Weak!” the remnant screamed. “Weak! You no warrior, you weak!”
A boot planted in the dirt by Bastian’s head, and through his oxygen-starved mind, he recognized it as Tansy’s. A flash of sunlight on metal left spots in his vision.
Bastian stretched out, and the remnant saw its chance. It dove, mouth open, towards Bastian’s cheek. Teeth sank in and pain speared his face even as his fingers fumbled for purchase on Tansy’s boot.
He found it. Her knife—one of them, anyway—slipped out, clutched in numb fingers as he stabbed. His first strike sank into flesh and the remnant howled, flesh pulling from Bastian’s face and breaking away with a sickening twang.
He thrust the knife again, aiming under the chin of the remnant as it was distracted by the flood of blood spurting from its neck. The remnant jerked as the knife smoothly slid through flesh, tendon, and finally brain.
Lungs finally cooperating, Bastian gasped and heaved the dead weight of the remnant off his chest. He rolled to his knees, and retched until a rough hand yanked his shirt from the back, pulling him up.
“Ye pansy,” Garrett cried. “Stop pukin’ an’ start killin’!”
Bastian reeled as Garrett let him go, stumbling two steps to the side before Garrett grabbed him again.
“Fuck’s sake, lad. Tomorrow, you’ll report fer mornin’ trainin’. No excuses!” Garrett paused to run his sword through the guts of a charging remnant. “Bah. Take this an’ try not ta get yerself killed.” He shoved the dripping sword at Bastian.
“There are too many,” Bastian panted, his eyes glowing white as he used his magic to block out the pain in his cheek. “We can’t win this.”
“Me lassie will be along soon enough,” Garrett said, grinning. A horse whinnied loudly and yells of “Tahn!” rang out across the battleground. “There she is now! Go find yer girl and stick by her. She’ll keep ye safe.”
Garrett stepped on a dead remnant, craning his neck to see over Mack and Sharne, back to back in the center of a ring of remnant. Mack fought with force, chopping and swinging his heavy sword to lop off limbs and, as Garrett watched, a head.
Sharne was lighter, faster. She stabbed and cut, slicing open a throat, then a belly, and taking off the fingertips of a remnant who reached out to claw at her face.
Beyond, a horse galloped out of the greenery, Bette astride the nag’s back and yelling orders.
“Seventh stance! Form up! Let’s take these bastards down!”
Her eyes scanned the battle, finally netting Garrett’s. He raised a fist to punch the air, then dropped low. He launched off his soft platform, falling into a roll as he landed. His momentum took him straight into the knees of a remnant, knocking the beast down.
Garrett punched it in the head, then slammed the edge of his hand on its throat. It struggled, eyes popping, only to have its face shattered by another blow. Garrett stood, grinning, as the remnant slowly drowned in its own blood.
Bette’s horse wheeled to a stop beside him. She slid off, slapped the mare’s rump and raised her fingers to her lips to let out a piercing whistle.
“Got it!” Mathias’s call came from a distance, bellowed out over the sound of fighting.
Two remnant burst out from the press of bodies nearby and Bette and Garrett both lunged, Bette wielding her short sword and Garrett armed with a hefty knife he kept for backup.
“Where’s yer sword?” Bette asked, twirling around to dodge a blow, then sticking the point of her weapon in the remnant’s side.
“Bastian,” Garrett grunted over the shoulder of his own target, as he rammed his knife in its belly.
Both remnant pulled back to strike again, despite the blood streaming to the ground.
“What?” she snapped. “He’ll fall on it before he sticks it one of these beasties!”
Garrett lunged, then dove between a remnant’s legs. He stabbed up with his knife, but lost his grip on the slippery, blood-coated hilt when the remnant collapsed. “Nay, Tansy’s there ta make sure he doesn't do anythin’ silly like that.”
Bette swung her sword and spilled the guts of their last attacker. The remnant stared at the intestines tumbling out in a slippery mess, and for a moment, she wondered if he would keep fighting anyway.
She heaved a breath when he tumbled to the ground, dead. “How the bloody hell did ye walk into a mess like this?” she asked, her voice edged.
Around them, the fighting had died. She stared at the three remnant hanging from the trees, eyes bulging and faces black from the vines that strangled them.
“Druid can fight,” Garrett muttered in awe next to her.
“Aye,” she said. “But he’s not got a thing on young Jakob. Did ye see what he did to those over there?” Bette pointed to where she had come in, and Garrett shook his head. “I think he exploded them.”
“Drop anything from enough height, and it’ll explode,” a voice said over her shoulder, making her jump.
Bette turned around and socked Jakob in the gut. He protected himself with a sudden shield, his eyes turning black as he cast it, but still feigned the injury.
“Don’t ye know not ta sneak up on a rearick after a fight, ye dickhead?” she asked, grinning.
“I do now!” he said.
“And you’re welcome, by the way.” She raised an expectant eyebrow to both men and waited. When neither said anything, she sighed. “Thank ye, Bette, fer runnin’ to our rescue. Thank ye fer bailing us out when we got ‘r empty ball sacks pinned ta the wall by a bunch of foul smellin’ remnant. Thank ye fer skippin’ yer lunch, even though it was steamin’ pork belly roasted with clove and—”
“Stop, woman, yer makin’ me stomach growl,” Garrett said.
Bette shook her head in exasperation. “Un-fuckin’-believable,” she muttered, stalking off to check that all her men were alive and all the remnant were not.
Jakob raised an eyebrow to Garrett. “Glad I’m not going home with her today,” he said.
“I’d be cleanin’ up before ye leave, or yer lass won’t be glad you’re there.” Garrett pointed to Jakob’s shirt, which, like Garrett’s own, was soaked in congealing blood.
“I’ll go wash down the river when we’re done,” Jakob said. Then, he paused. “Are we done?”
Garrett shook his head. “I’ve never seen that many remnant in one place, but I can’t be offerin’ a guarantee that there’s no more o’ the bastards lurkin’ around.”
“Garrett!” Bette’s cry filtered through the babble of conversation.
He bent down, planting a boot on a dead remnant’s leg as he plucked his knife from inside it’s thigh. He lifted it gingerly, wrinkling his nose at the bloody mess before wiping it on his shirt.
“Garrett!” Bette called again, impatience clear in her tone.
“I’m comin’, lass.” He picked his way over dead bodies, eyeing the wounded soldiers who sat in the few clear spaces, tending their wounds. He found Bette by the tree line, by a remnant lashed to a tree with thick vines.
“Rearick!” Mathias waved, grinning. “We caught a live one—and it looks like it might be a good one!”
Indeed, the trapped beast wore the bright scraps and layers clothes of the remannt leader—if remnant could be said to have a leader.
“Yer Chet?” Garrett asked.
Bette stood back, willing to let Garrett interrogate the creature.
“Chet!” the remnant bellowed. “Me Chet! Mighty Chet! Rip your face off, little man.” Chet snarled, baring yellowed teeth.
“Mighty Chet look mighty fucked,” Garrett said, laughing. “What’re ye doin’, ye stupid beast. The Madlands are that way.”
“Chet from morning sun.” He jerked his head east. “Seen remnant from late sun. They dumb.”
“You’re clearly smarter than them, though a bag of bricks would still give you a run for your money
,” Mathias said.
Chet frowned. “What?”
“I rest my case.” Mathias’s eyes flashed green, and the vines shifted, tightening enough to make Chet gasp for breath.
“What made ye come here?” Garrett asked.
“Monster. Chet kill monster! Chet strong! Chet kill you!”
“If ye killed it,” Bette said, “Why’d ye leave?”
Chet pouted, mumbling. When Mathias gave him a warning glance and raised his arm, Chet spoke. “More monster. They come here. They kill you.”
“What does this monster look like?” Garrett asked.
Chet spat at him. “Coward. Let go. Chet fight! Chet bite man face!”
“Aye, one of yer friends bit one of mine in his face. Ye wanna try?” Garrett got up close to Chet’s face, and the remnant snapped his teeth, straining to get closer to the rearick. Garrett punched Chet in the gut and gave a satisfied grunt when the remnant coughed and wheezed.
“Chet kill you! Chet kill all you!” the remnant screamed when Garrett turned his back.
Garrett steeled his shoulders and took a breath, while Chet continued to threaten him. Then, he spun, arm out. His knife slipped between his fingers, shot through the air and planted itself between Chet’s eyes.
“Yer a bloody whiner, Chet,” Garrett grumbled, before plucking his weapon out of the remnant leader’s skull. “Now, we’d best be checkin’ the area fer more o’ the remnant scum. Bastian!”
Garrett stomped through the mess of soldiers, bodies, and debris, looking for Bastian. He found Tansy first, leaning back against a broken section of wall.
“Where’s yer lad?” he asked, irritably. The blood was starting to congeal on his clothes, sticking to his skin in a warm mess.
“Looking for Mathias,” she said. “You would have walked straight past him.”
“Ah, fuck,” he said. He turned to go, but Tansy called him back.
“Do ye think this was all of ‘em, Garrett?” Her face was smooth and seemed free of worry.
“Why?” he asked. “Do ye wanna come with us to find out?’
She grinned and nodded. “Bastian, too. I mean, he can’t get into too much trouble with this many soldiers around him, right?”
Garrett scratched his chin, grimacing when his fingers dug a globbet of flesh out of his beard. “Aye. The lad needs the experience.”
Tansy jumped to her feet excitedly and waved over Garrett’s head. He turned to see Bastian heading their way.
The teeth marks and missing skin from his cheek had been healed, but crusted blood still smeared his face.
Bastian nodded at Garrett, then shivered. “Are we going home? It’s getting cold. Really cold.”
“That’s just the battle rage wearin’ off, lad!” Garrett slapped Bastian across the back hard enough to make him stumble. “We’re off across the river. Can’t leave until all the vermin are cleared, or ye’ll have ‘em breedin’ and infestin’ the forest again.”
Bastian slumped tiredly. He looked to Tansy for support, but she shook her head.
“Uh uh,” she said. “This is your circus, not mine. I’ll tag along, but you have to see it through.”
Bastian sucked in a breath, wavering on his feet as he looked around. “Tansy… there are piles of bodies here. Blood everywhere. Do you really think we can still save this?”
Garrett chuckled. “Wait for the rains ta come, lad. It’ll clean up nice, and ye can knock down anythin’ that doesn’t.”
Buoyed by Garrett’s confidence, Bastian smiled. “Yeah. We can clean her up. Most of the walls need to come down anyway, and even if we re-use the stone, paint will cover the worst of it.”
“That’s me lad. Come on—let’s roust the last of these fuckers out before it gets dark. I’d rather spend me night under a warm blanket with me lass than out here with the rats. Ye know, if ye touch her in just the right spot, her ears—”
“Garrett!” Bastian snapped, face as red as a beetroot. “Please, no more. Please? Bitch’s oath, if Bette found out you were talking about—”
“If Bette found out ye were talkin’ about what?” The rearick in question strode over, lips pursed and brow knitted as she glared at Garrett. “What lies are ye spreadin’?”
“Nothin, lass.” Garrett grinned. “Just teasing the lad. He bites too easy to help it.”
She shook her head, unconvinced. “Well, just to be safe, yer comin’ with me, ye wee bastard.” Bette waggled a finger at Garrett, and he followed her away, head dropped to his chest.
“Just scraped out of that,” Bastian said, laughing nervously.
Bette called back over her shoulder. “Move yer ass, mystic! Ye comin’?”
“Fine! Fine, I’m coming.” Bastian pulled himself to his feet and followed Bette as she barked orders to her men, ordering some to stay, and others to join the party going out to scour the remnant camp site.
Tansy nudged him with her shoulder. “I had fun today,” she said.
He cocked an eyebrow at her grimy face and bloodied clothes. “I think you have remnant shit on your boot,” he pointed out.
She grinned. “Sign of a good fight, that.”
Bastian shook his head in disbelief. “I’m never going to be able to keep up with you. You know that, right?”
Tansy stopped walking, tugging on his sleeve to make him stop, too. “Bastian, I don’t like you because you can fight—I mean, that’s obvious.” She rolled her eyes, and he cringed. “I like you because you’re a nice person. And you’re brave. You can’t fight, and you still went toe to toe with some dirtbag, ballsack, rotfaced remnant because he tried to attack me.”
“You saw that?” Bastian said, uncertainly. That particular fight hadn’t exactly been a precision attack. In fact, he was pretty sure Garrett would have died laughing at Bastian’s clumsy attempt to defend Tansy, even if the remnant had died in the end.
“Yeah, I saw.” Tansy patted his arm. “I saw my friend put himself in harm’s way to protect me. Awkwardly, sure. But you still did it, and that’s braver than if Garrett or Mack or Jakob had done it.”
Bastian shook his head. “Any of those guys would have taken that remnant out in one hit.”
“Exactly!” Tansy exclaimed. “They wouldn’t have been as eager to jump in if they weren’t sure they’d win. You? You had a one in a million chance of surviving that, and you still didn’t hesitate.”
“Oh, come on,” Bastian complained. “I know I’m bad, but a million? Give me better odds than that!”
“Ok,” Tansy chuckled. “You are learning. And you’re clumsy, but you know when to stand your ground. Maybe… one in a thousand?”
Bastian snorted and raised his eyes to the sky. “Why?” he asked the clouds. “Why me?”
“Because you’re so damn fun to tease,” Tansy said. She tugged his arm, and they set off with the troop again, now trailing at the back. “It’s what I love most about you.”
Heat prickled Bastian’s face, and he ducked his head to hide it, wondering what she had really just meant to say.
They didn’t speak after that, too busy trudging through damp brush and hilly terrain until they reached the remnant campsite. A couple of remnant had attacked the back of the party, but were easily dispatched before Tansy and Bastian could make their way through the soldiers to help.
The camp itself seemed deserted, so Garrett and Bette led the team over the shallow river. Bastian gripped Tansy’s arm as he slipped and stumbled over the mossy rocks, while she laughed at his attempts to stay dry.
Two remnant jumped out of a tiny building. Tansy flicked her knife before Bastian could react. A moment later, both remnant lay on the dirt, dead eyes staring at the sky. Four knifes had lodged in their skulls.
Tansy whistled. “How’s that for a coordinated attack?” she said, plucking her knife and Garrett’s both out of one skull, while Bette fetched hers and Jakob’s.
“We make a good team, don’t we?” Bette chuckled. “Good thing the lads have us here ta keep ‘em
safe.”
Garrett grumbled something about keeping Bette safe in bed, but she didn’t respond.
“Mack, Garrett and Jakob—search the buildings. Mathias? Where are ye?” Bette called. The druid jogged up to her. “Can ye send a bird to see if we’ve got any watchers?”
He nodded, and Bette proceeded to examine the cook fire. Charred animal bones littered the coals, and she poked them with a long stick.
Garrett emerged from one of the buildings, a long cobweb stuck between his beard and the doorway. “Nothin’ here!” he called.
“Looks empty,” Jakob confirmed.
“Mathias?” Bette probed.
“No remnant,” the druid said, face drawn into a tight frown. “But there’s something else…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Marcus flew down the steps behind Aldred and burst out of the Temple doors. A line of guards, weapons at the ready, stood along the top of the path leading down to Craigston.
“Have you sent for your Master?” Marcus asked.
“Yes.” Aldred spoke curtly, voice bouncing as he ran.
Travis, the guard who had raised the alarm when the battalion of heavily armed rearick had stormed over the ridge, clicked his heels.
“How did they get here so fast?” Aldred muttered.
“They took the back way,” Marcus said. “Looking for us.”
Marcus had spent the last forty minutes filling Aldred in on their trip back from Tahn. The odd adventure with the Arcadians hadn’t seemed to bother the mystic, but his reaction to the events in Craigston had made him curse.
Aldred had responded with a story of the Master—or, Donna wearing Julianne’s face—ordering a message be sent to the rearick, severing all of their treaties and trade agreements.
It had included a scathing line about the two rearick sent as hired guards, calling them useless and untrained, and, the line that caused the most pain, ‘better use as carrion for the birds’.
Thinking that two of his guards were dead and that the Temple had broken faith, Tavich had barred passage through the town for any mystic, or for anyone returning from the Temple.
