Dustfall, Book One - Shadows of a Lost Age

by J. Thorn

  What Gaston didn’t know was that Jonah and the Elk were not the only eyes on his newly formed caravan. Even Seren, with her astute powers of observation, could not see Gerth’s warriors in the trees above the road, watching them through spyglasses pilfered from an old military barrack.

  Chapter 69

  “They’re moving out.”

  Gerth took the spyglass from Shykar and put the crosshairs on the leader, the man wearing the long coat. Although the weapon it was attached to had been lost long ago, the warriors preserved the spyglass and passed it down through the generations. Gerth felt a pinch in his leg where his wound began to heal. He felt his skin tighten and stretch.

  “South?”

  “Yes,” said Shykar. “As you said they would.”

  Gerth had listened to his warriors repeat what they had heard in Wytheville. This group splintered from a larger group, and the choice was not an easy one. Friends split, as did siblings. Gerth took inventory of this group, the caravan led by the stranger with the long coat, the one they called Gaston. He saw that the youngest of the clan, and the strongest, followed this man while most of the elderly and the families remained. Despite their youthful strength and speed, Gerth determined they were still by far the weaker of the two, more likely to be caught off guard by an ambush. While he wanted to hear about White Citadel, Gerth had to be sure they could control this group, and that would happen by subduing their leader.

  “Is the pass blocked?” Gerth asked.

  “As you instructed. I ordered the men to pull the carts across the road. It will be another eight hours or so until they reach it.”

  Gerth looked up and saw the blazing, golden orb almost directly overhead. He thought about the road and the time it would take for the newly splintered clan to get to the ambush point.

  Shykar is a perverted fuck but he is battle-tested. It may be worth keeping him around, just in case.

  “Are there any forks they could take? Paths?”

  “We blocked everything except the road. And the path takes them due south. I think they will not veer from it.”

  “Good,” said Gerth. “Signal the rest. Get them down from the trees and out in front of this caravan. I don’t want another clan getting to them before we do.”

  Shykar nodded and gestured at the warriors in the trees along the northern edge of the road. They waited until the last of Gaston’s caravan crested the rise in the road before climbing down the trees and running through the foliage bordering what was left of the old guard rail. Gerth followed Shykar along the southern edge, darting twenty feet into the forest but staying on the path parallel to the road.

  Gerth and Shykar kept a visual on both Gaston’s caravan and their own warriors. The clan stopped several times, and as Shykar predicted, were approaching the ambush point at the same time the sun slid beneath the trees in the west. Gaston sent a young girl and boy to investigate the carts piled on the road. Although Gerth could not hear the conversation, it appeared as though Gaston had ordered the caravan to set up camp for the night before they reached the ambush point, and soon fires sprang up to fight the encroaching darkness.

  “How many?” Gerth asked.

  “Thirty or more. About twenty are armed.”

  Gerth waved his warriors into a tight circle. They stood on a ridge above the road, high enough not to be seen or heard by the people below. The first few seconds of the attack were most critical and they had not been tactical in the past. If Gerth wanted to know more about White Citadel, he’d need to make sure Gaston survived.

  “Swing for the torso, not the head. Some will die but that is not our objective. I need the leader alive and with the ability to speak to me. If any of you take him down, I will cut your throat. Understood?”

  The warriors nodded.

  “What of the young girl and boy? He appears to be using them as scouts.”

  “You may have the boy,” Gerth said to Shykar. “But I want them alive. When I am done, you may have them both.”

  Shykar licked his lips and grinned.

  “Get in position. On my signal, we attack.”

  The warriors scrambled and Shykar remained at Gerth’s side.

  “You mean it?” he asked.

  “Mean what?”

  “The boy? I can have him?”

  “Yes,” said Gerth. “After I have the information I need.”

  Two fires now burned at the foot of the cart pile and the members of the caravan circled one or the other. Gerth saw the boy and the girl next to Gaston.

  “Send Jaz and Irix in first. You and I will flank them.”

  Shykar nodded and tossed the warriors hand signals. They both pulled their helmets down and crouched low.

  “Screaming or silent?” Shykar asked.

  “Silent. I don’t know if there are other clans in the area,” said Gerth. “I’m not sharing the loot.”

  Gerth took one last look at his crew before giving the warriors the signal. As he commanded, Jaz and Irix rushed into the camp first, their axes high. The other warriors flooded the perimeter of the camp while Gerth and Shykar came from the edges.

  Gaston stepped back and instinctively put his arms out in front of Seren and Roke. Two of the young warriors from the Elk clan screamed and rushed Gerth’s soldiers. The boys stood a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than the warriors. Irix and Jaz swung their axes low, as Gerth demanded, but that put the strike in line with the teenagers’ heads. The blunt edge of Irix’s axe struck one boy in the jaw, sending a spray of blood and a crackling like firewood into the air. Gaston’s boy collapsed immediately. Jaz hadn’t given the boys the benefit of the doubt, having seen countless warriors physically underestimate their opponent. He buried the sharpened blade of his axe in the other boy’s head. A sound like a split melon froze Gaston’s people as the boy then fell to the ground. Jaz put his boot on the boy’s unblinking face and yanked his weapon free.

  “Stop.”

  Gerth held up his hand, waiting to hear what more Gaston had to say.

  “This will not end well if you continue,” Gaston said, his voice low.

  “Don’t you tell me what the fuck to do,” said Gerth. “Get their weapons.”

  Gerth’s warriors moved farther into the camp, but several stopped, and backed away, as the warriors following Gaston stood side by side, weapons drawn and ready to fight.

  “You don’t need to do this,” said Gaston. “You’ve killed one of our boys and the other doesn’t seem to be moving. What do you want?”

  Gerth held up his hand and the rest of his warriors stopped.

  “Do you see my mask? Do you know how I earned it?”

  Gaston took a step forward, two long knives drawn, and shook his head before speaking. “The world moved on a long time ago, my friend. Violence no longer needs an explanation. It is like asking the river to explain it’s current.”

  Gerth frowned, unable to understand what the man was saying.

  “I have something of value,” said Gaston. “But you must let us go. You may defeat us, but I promise that you will lose many in the process.”

  “Don’t,” Seren said. “He’ll kill us anyway.”

  Gaston ignored Seren. “Leave us without further bloodshed and I will give it to you.”

  “I know about White Citadel,” Gerth said.

  Gaston chuckled and tipped his hat to the man. “Maybe you do, but that is not all I have to offer.”

  Gerth turned his head sideways and took a step toward Gaston.

  “Yes? And what is that? I don’t need all of these people to find White Citadel. I only need you.”

  “You’ve attacked the wrong group. Jonah, the man leading the Elk. He has something I do not.”

  “What is that?” asked Gerth.

  “People. Clans. We will need people to settle White Citadel, and although this group will try, it may not be enough. We need more.”

  “I do not care.”

  “You should,” said Gaston. “Jonah is aligning w
ith the southern clans and all of those people will strip White Citadel of its resources. When Jonah realizes the forests won’t support all of the clans joining his, he’ll come to White Citadel, and there won’t be room. Jonah must be stopped before he unites the clans.”

  “So?” said Gerth. “What interest is this to me? Why should I care what you folks are bickering over?”

  Gaston stepped up to Gerth until he was so close that the sour sweat on his mask filled the space between them.

  “White Citadel is the promised land, and I am close to finding it. When others hear of the place, they will want it. If you kill Jonah, the clans will not unite, and they will not come to White Citadel. You will preserve the precious resources for your own clan, and you will sit upon the throne at White Citadel if you follow us there. Surely being a king is a greater treasure than the mere possessions of a group of travelers?”

  Chapter 70

  Gaston kept Gerth in his peripheral vision. He stacked one rock after another on top of the freshly-dug grave. The other boy would die soon, he had no doubt. For now, Gaston had to appear to his new clan as a caring, empathetic leader and so he continued to bury the dead boy with a feigned reverence. If that’s what it took to get to White Citadel, that’s what he would do.

  But this attack changed everything. The masked man and his band of marauders landed in Gaston’s lap like a strange gift, bearing death and hope at the same time if only he could turn it to his advantage. He had his doubts as to whether or not they could make it to White Citadel with the mostly-young boys pilfered from the Elk clan. Gaston would work with what he was given but he had hoped to sway more away from Jonah. That hadn't happened. He had to think quickly, and Gaston believed Gerth accepted what he said at face value. In a sense it was true. Jonah would eventually come to White Citadel, and he would make a play for the leadership, which could ruin everything. Why not use this feral, primitive man as a bludgeon against Jonah? Master craftsmen used whatever tools they had at their disposal.

  “We could have killed more. You should be grateful you’re only burying one this morning.”

  “It will be two by sundown,” said Gaston. “And if you had attacked, you would have lost men too. This is a better way.”

  Gerth watched as Gaston set one rock after another on top of the shallow grave. Gerth looked over his shoulder to where Shykar was speaking to the other warriors. The members of Gaston’s clan stayed on the opposite side of camp, huddled around the coals of last night’s fire.

  “Tell me of Jonah.”

  Gaston shook his head, his hair dropping down around his neck in greasy strands.

  “I told you last night. He will come to White Citadel when he realizes the forests will no longer sustain the clans. And when he does, he will make a claim on leadership.”

  Gerth stooped down and looked into Gaston’s eyes. Gaston stopped stacking rocks and lifted his head to return the stare.

  “That is not what I mean. Tell me about the man.”

  Yes, thought Gaston. Yes, indeed.

  “He is ruthless. Strong. Loved by his clan.”

  Gerth waved a hand in the air as if to shoo a pesky gnat.

  “But he is vulnerable.”

  “How so?” asked Gerth.

  “We had trouble at Wytheville and on the road into the camp. We lost a man at the river gorge, and the split between Jonah’s clan and my new one was difficult. They lost a lot of their younger warriors and now have reduced numbers. Also, they have not yet been tested by true warriors.” Gaston used his chin to point at Gerth’s men.

  “Don’t patronize me, you slimy fuck.”

  Careful. He is wise beneath that hideous mask.

  “I had no such intent. I’m simply answering your questions.”

  Gerth chuckled and tossed a rock on to the boy’s grave. It rolled off the top and down one side, landing on Gaston’s boot. “Go on.”

  “A coordinated ambush by warriors who know this area. Jonah would not know how to defend against that.”

  “You hate him,” Gerth said. “You’re vindictive.”

  “I care only for the book, which shows us the way to White Citadel. Jonah renounced it.”

  “But he has a stupid book too, eh?”

  “He does,” said Gaston. “The one claiming that questioning of The Walk to Eliz is heresy. Forbidden by the old ones.”

  “The old ones don’t matter anymore. They’re gone, and they’re not coming back. Nothing is coming back.”

  Gaston let the comment hang as he placed another rock on the grave.

  “Seems as though my effort would be best spent neutralizing Jonah so I may walk with my clan into White Citadel and be the boss there.”

  “You will do whatever it is you decide to do,” said Gaston.

  Gerth stood, as did Gaston. They faced each other over the grave.

  “You come from Cygoa,” said Gerth. “The north.”

  “Aye.”

  “Warriors there are tough. But they are also sly.”

  Gaston stood in silence.

  “I believe I will take my men to scout the clans headed to Eliz,” said Gerth.

  I knew he could not resist the challenge.

  “We have no reason to resist you, and you have no reason to kill any more of our warriors. I will gladly walk with you into White Citadel when you return.”

  “Yes, of that I have no doubt. You will walk with whatever clan best suits you.”

  “Jonah is stronger than you think. He appears inexperienced and unsure but he is not.”

  “Do I look scared to you?”

  “I would not know. I cannot see through the mask.”

  Gerth put his hand to his chin and grabbed the bottom of the mask. He stopped. “Someday I will tell you how I earned my mask, and then you will never question my bravery again.”

  Gerth spun and whistled at Shykar and the other warriors. They grabbed their weapons and left the camp, heading back on the road to the east toward Wytheville. Several people approached Gaston, and he could see the despair on their faces.

  “The man with a common enemy is a friend. And we have no intention of waiting for them to come back.”

  Gaston dropped back down to his knees and continued to stack rocks on the boy’s grave.

  Chapter 71

  The streets leading toward the council’s great hall were heaving with clans from all over the valley. Jonah didn’t remember there being so many people at previous meetings, but it must have been so. If anything, he knew that the population was decreasing rather than growing, but he hadn’t paid as much attention in previous years. He had been too busy thinking of just his family. Now, with his responsibilities much larger, his eyes had opened to a world he had barely noticed before. Dozens of small clans, not just a few. The Five Clans that ruled in alliance in Wytheville were but a small part of the map.

  Along the street a shanty town had sprung up between the more permanent buildings. The buildings themselves were boarded up and reinforced for defense, homes to those who were permanent residents in Wytheville and members of The Five Clans, and the open spaces between the buildings would normally be empty, but now those gaps were busy with travelers from all over the area, gathering for the journey to Eliz.

  That was one thing he did remember clearly. The great convoys that stretched for miles. It just never occurred to him who the convoy was made up of.

  In among the tents and the hastily-built shelters, peddlers wandered, trying to sell their junk. Jonah noticed some of it was just trash found in the ruins; metals, woods, old plastic containers, clear sheeting, bags. All the kind of junk he would normally ignore unless he had a need for such things at the time, and most of it could easily be scavenged in a few hours. Others sold food.

  Jonah considered stopping for a minute, maybe even trading for something, but dreaded the thought of a rotten gut later should the food be badly cooked. And that, he knew, was quite probable. Rats, voles, and other vermin, pushed onto sharp sticks and hasti
ly cooked, could spell the end for many people. It surprised him that some of the food peddlers weren’t driven away, but then he wondered who would care what they were doing?

  The small group moved on, heading down the center of the main street, which was thankfully clear of people and debris, and eventually saw the great hall in the distance. It was an imposing sight, with a dozen metal and wood towers standing high and overlooking the streets.

  They’ll know we’re coming long before we get there, Jonah thought. But that mattered little. He was less worried now that his clan had unexpectedly grown after the disaster that was the previous night.

  When they reached the main gate of The Five Clans’ great council hall, walls surrounded them on three sides. The main path into the center of what had once been Wytheville was a fortress built from the ruins of the past. Rusted cars were stacked three or four high, some topped with barriers built from metal torn from the very walls of industrial warehouses on the outskirts of the town. In places, the cars were replaced by large metal containers that Jonah once heard had been pulled along by even larger vehicles than the rusted remains that littered the roadways. Atop the walls, the suspicious guards watched.

  The main gate was set back into the wall at least a hundred feet, causing a bottleneck to those wishing to enter.

  A good place to kill an assault on the gate, Jonah thought.

  He was expecting to wait for a long time before being granted audience, maybe even hours, but as he stood at the main entrance with Gunney, Solomon and Declan nearby, clunking noises came from within the walls behind the gate, and a few seconds later the massive gateway began to move, rolling slowly along the ground on wheels that Jonah could only see the bottom of.

  He walked forward, nerves twitching, his hand straying to the axe hung at his waist, and then he saw the familiar face of the envoy that had been sent to meet him back in Becksley. The man appeared much less nervous this time, surrounded as he was by half a dozen heavily armored warriors, now Jonah no longer led a large group of his own. But Jonah still thought the man was not entirely at ease.