by Randi Darren
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chp. 1
Chp. 2
Chp. 3
Chp. 4
Chp. 5
Chp. 6
Chp. 7
Chp. 8
Chp. 9
Chp. 10
Chp. 11
Chp. 12
Chp. 13
Chp. 14
Chp. 15
Chp. 16
Chp. 17
Chp. 18
Chp. 19
Chp. 20
Chp. 21
Chp. 22
Chp. 23
Chp. 24
Chp. 25
Chp. 26
Chp. 27
Chp. 28
Epilogue
Authors Note-B1
Chp. 1
Chp. 2
Chp. 3
Chp. 4
Chp. 5
Chp. 6
Chp. 7
Chp. 8
Chp. 9
Chp. 10
Chp. 11
Chp. 12
Chp. 13
Chp. 14
Chp. 15
Chp. 16
Chp. 17
Chp. 18
Chp. 19
Chp. 20
Chp. 21
Chp. 22
Chp. 23
Chp. 24
Chp. 25
Chp. 26
Chp. 27
Chp. 28
Chp. 29
Chp. 30
Chp. 31
Chp. 32
Chp. 33
Chp. 34
Chp. 35
Chp. 36
Epilogue
Authors Note-B2
Chp. 1
Chp. 2
Chp. 3
Chp. 4
Chp. 5
Chp. 6
Chp. 7
Chp. 8
Chp. 9
Chp. 10
Chp. 11
Chp. 12
Chp. 13
Chp. 14
Chp. 15
Chp. 16
Chp. 17
Chp. 18
Chp. 19
Chp. 20
Chp. 21
Chp. 22
Chp. 23
Chp. 24
Chp. 25
Chp. 26
Chp. 27
Chp. 28
Chp. 29
Chp. 30
Chp. 31
Chp. 32
Chp. 33
Chp. 34
Chp. 35
Chp. 36
Chp. 37
Epilogue
Epilogue
Authors Note
Wild Wastes
-Omnibus-
By Randi Darren
Copyright © 2018 Randi Darren
Cover design © 2018 Randi Darren
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means - except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews - without written permission from its publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2018 Randi Darren
All rights reserved.
Special Thanks:
To all the fans.
Chapter 1
Vince looked at the board while his face screwed up into a frown. His eyes swept from one notice to another, finding nothing that really suited his skillset.
Escort, escort, escort, escort, escort. Nothing but escorts. I’m no caravan guard. No simple sword to defend a wagon of goods.
Sighing in defeat, he looked to the tag in his hand. It was the only one that even came close.
The money promised was good, though. Almost too good. It would’ve been equivalent to nearly three years of normal wages if he’d had a normal job.
I’d never last as a farmer.
Like all the other tags on the board, it was an escort mission. At least for this one the clients were moving on foot. No wagon or horses.
No goods.
Moving on foot meant he could take some of his personal detours. He could account for them, and know they were safe.
At least as safe as the Wastes could be.
The roads through the Wastes were perilous in the best of times. Patrols through the Wastes did little more than lose soldiers and waste money on gear and training.
Shaking his head, Vince turned around and cast an eye up one side of the street and then down the other.
Speaking of patrols…
Across the street, in front of the old United States postal office, a squad of pike-wielding men in various pieces of mismatched armor marched along.
They looked far too proud for a group of people who collectively probably had less experience than the newest Ranger on their first day.
Vince felt his face twitch at the sight of it. They were the same people he found more often than not as half-chewed corpses under a bush out in the Wastes.
They stomped past two men Vince had marked earlier as people of note. Of interest.
He’d only been at the Ranger board for a few minutes before these two had wandered over and set up near an alley, watching everyone walking by.
They kept to themselves and their speech didn’t drift or carry.
He’d taken notice of them simply due to the sheer amount of hate they were putting out whenever a non-human passed by.
Those men were like a smoldering bed of coals waiting for a stick of wood.
Grumbling to himself, he picked up his feet and headed over to the inn. He’d rather get this contract moving than sit around cooling his heels.
Winter would be coming soon, and trying to get through what used to be the Rockies during a Wastes winter would be suicide.
Keeping his pace sure and steady, his long strides carried him swiftly along.
With a glance to the side as he passed a window, he caught a quick reflection of himself.
He hadn’t seen himself in a mirror for a few days and was surprised by the clear reflection in the window.
Light brown hair, bordering on moving towards being an actual blond, framed an average face. He kept his hair rather short. No longer than three or so inches. Longer than that and he felt like he was always pushing it out of his blue eyes. His height made him look scrawnier than he actually was. Being six foot had advantages, but not always.
Big-ass scarecrow.
Snorting at the idle thoughts, he turned his head to the path ahead of him, then to the watch on his wrist. It was an antique. A very old antique. He didn’t wear it when he was out and about often, though when he had a timetable to keep, it was invaluable.
His father had called it an Eh-Eleven, but that didn’t mean much to Vince.
It only took him a minute to enter and find the potential clients.
Both were older than he was, perhaps in their late thirties. Nondescript and looking no better or worse than anyone else in this border town, they were very average.
Vince didn’t bother to attach any value to the way they looked, but instead looked at their clothes.
Lightly worn, no patches, no dirt or dust, boots that were new and unbroken. The cuffs of their long-sleeved shirts were the only part that didn’t look immaculate, really. To his eyes, they looked as if they’d been bleached repeatedly.
It was their nails that gave up their profession, which then explained their cuffs. The cuticles of their nails were black. Ink-stained.
Scholars.
Vince plastered a placating smile on his face and took a seat in front of the two men.
“Nam
e’s Vince, I pulled your tag. Was hoping to discuss it with you,” the Ranger said, laying the request on the table.
“Ah! Splendid, splendid. We only put that up this morning,” said the man on the left. He was a little heavier than his fellow.
“Indeed, indeed. I’m Marcus, this is Gator,” Marcus said, motioning to the man who spoke first.
“Your marker says thirty gold standards. Ten in advance, twenty on completion.” Vince didn’t really want to hear their life story. People seemed to think he gave a shit.
He didn’t.
“Uh, ah. Yes. That’s correct. We’re looking to cross so we can—”
“It also says you’ll be carrying only packs. No wagons or anything like that,” Vince confirmed, interrupting Gator.
“Indeed. We’ll be carrying—”
“Good. We can get started tonight. The sooner we can get over the Rockies, the better I’ll feel. Wastes winters are good for no one. Not even the Wasters themselves,” Vince explained.
“Oh, I see. Yes, well. In that case, could we see your Ranger’s license?” Marcus asked.
Vince nodded his head. It was a reasonable request and he’d expected it. Reaching into his vest, he pulled out the wooden license card.
It had his basic information and confirmed his qualification as a Ranger. Someone who could cross the Wastes professionally.
The backside of it was his successful mission tally, which would show he’d completed thirty some odd missions for the Ranger guild already.
If he managed to make it to fifty, they’d change the card out with a new one that had a different design.
“Is this a lot?” Gator asked, tapping the back of the wooden card.
“For my age, it’s far more than one could expect. I’m also rated as a single notch below a master swordsman. I have no taste for firearms, way too much cost in upkeep. I do have a proficiency”—Vince said, reaching over to turn the card over and tap the listed weapons—“with crossbows and field medicine.”
The vast majority of his crossings he’d done by himself. Nearly at a sprint from one side of the continent to the other as an armored courier. Not to mention one could do multiple courier jobs in one circuit.
Escorts just take too long.
“Mm, mm. I see, I see. Yes, yes,” Gator said.
“Fantastic, here’s the ten standards in advance. We look forward to working with you,” Marcus enthused, dropping a coin pouch onto the table.
Vince picked it up and held it in his hand. He needed to clarify one more point with them. “Know this: while we’re out there, you do as I say, and you listen to what I say. This isn’t a democracy and it isn’t a consensus decision. You do what I tell you to. My goal is to get you safely to the eastern seaboard. Is that acceptable?”
Both men nodded their heads absently, Gator returning the guild card.
“Then we’ve a deal. Thank you, gentlemen,” Vince said with a genuine smile.
It had taken the better part of two months just to cross into what used to be Colorado. They’d just barely slipped through before ice and snow made the passes too treacherous.
Even out in the vast plains of the Wastes, it’d be hard going.
Vince kept them moving along the old roads, which had long since been deserted and ravaged by the merciless touch of time and environment.
They’d help move them along, though, and keep them on track, even if half of these roads, highways, and freeways were wrecked.
“Goodness. Is that a city?” Marcus asked, pointing to what could distantly be seen.
Vince glanced over and then nodded his head.
“Never been. Cities like that tend to collect things that you’re better off not dealing with. Most notably undead. We’ll be fine out here in the plains.” Vince looked back to the road, his eyes sweeping back and forth for dangers.
“It’s hard to believe the entirety of the Wastes is all from a couple of experiments by the old United States,” Marcus said.
“Indeed, indeed. Now the world lies in ruins. Ruins! The sky’s full of creatures that tear planes out of the clouds, the sea’s full of monsters that devour boats, and the Wastes are as big as they were to begin with. There’s been no retreat in any way, shape, or form. Even after the crusades,” replied Gator.
Vince listened in, interested in the conversation. His reading skills weren’t great, but even he’d read a couple of books about the pre-Wastes world.
“Well of course it’s big, it split the continent in two. Apparently, some of the worst of the Wastes is from what used to be Mexico up to…well, here, actually,” Marcus said thoughtfully. “Now it’s all overrun by fairytale creatures. It’s almost like something out of a bad play.”
“They’re not fairytale creatures. They exist. They live. They want nothing more than to play with your skull. While you’re still using it,” Vince murmured. “Even when you can’t see them, they’re there. Listening.”
The conversation died after that. They kept marching along and the day wore on. An hour or so before the sun would hit the mountains behind them, Vince took them off the road and to the side.
The roads had different occupants at night. It was better to simply not be on it when that happened.
They pitched their camp under a ridgeline that had a smattering of trees. That and the scrub brush all around them did a fair job of obscuring their location.
He’d managed to guide them into a shallow depression between two ridges, which meant they might even be able to have a fire.
Which was great news, since Vince had managed to catch several hares. He’d skinned, gutted, and drained them moments after catching them. He’d butchered them on the walk, and the results were all gathered in a sack on his hip.
The sun had barely graced the edge of the mountaintops when Marcus started screaming.
Vince unslung his saber from his hip and cleared the distance of their camp to the scholar in a breath.
“I saw it! I saw it. Behind that brush there!” screamed the hysterical man.
Vince ground his teeth in frustration. Half the time, these situations resolved themselves without interaction between the two parties. Providing that one didn’t discover the other one. Watchers would watch unless they had no alternative. Some would simply attack due to the confrontation.
A lone Orc charged out of the brush, straight for Vince.
Strange. Only one.
It was average size for an Orc. Maybe a touch on the taller side, but not as wide. As tall as Vince was, though, and the light green skin visible on muscular arms and legs was unmistakable; it could only be an Orc.
Dressed in a fur vest and what looked a lot like a loincloth, the attacker had a savage look to it.
Long black hair flowed back from the Orc’s head, bound behind its skull in a warrior’s knot.
Snarling as it closed the distance, it kept its long two-handed war sword held out behind it.
Can’t block that thing. Dodging it is.
While the Orc was big, Vince had an advantage over him. He had quite a bit of experience fighting in the Wastes. Humans and non-humans alike.
Impressively, the greenskin brought the weapon around in a vicious arc as it slid to a halt.
Whipping around faster than Vince had originally given the Orc credit for, it nearly caught Vince in the middle of his torso.
Dancing backwards and then diving immediately forwards after the blade passed, Vince went on the attack.
His blade came around in a circular swish that was targeted at the Orc’s waist.
Moving with his blade, the Orc brought the big piece of steel around and held it vertically with both hands, stopping Vince’s strike cold.
Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Vince pressed up against the Orc and slammed his knee up into the Orc’s stomach to buy himself a few precious seconds.
Connecting with the rock-hard abs, Vince only gained a chance to disengage easily instead of a follow-up attack.
The Orc pressed
a hand to its stomach and then looked at Vince with renewed heat. Bringing the huge two-hander around itself with ease, the Orc impressed Vince. It wielded the big blade as if it were nothing more than a longsword. There was also the fact that this fellow definitely had some experience in combat, too.
Vince would have to wait for another opening. He was outmatched on reach and strength.
The Orc gave him a leer and grunted at him.
Then the two-hander came forward in a lunge. An incredibly fast lunge that Vince had to turn sideways to dodge, and practically bend himself into a knot.
Not wanting to miss whatever opportunity he could, the Ranger kept moving down and swept low with one leg at the Orc’s forward foot.
Unfortunately, Vince was surprised by the Orc again. He lifted up his leading foot and simply stepped over Vince’s attack, then smashed a wicked hook into the side of Vince’s head.
Stumbling under the force of the strike, Vince took several steps away and shook his head to clear it.
His blood began to sing, his ears rang, and his body felt lighter by the moment. Vince could feel his control slipping as he got worked up.
He’d always walked a delicate line between the savagery of his own nature and the control his personality demanded.
In his heart of hearts, Vince knew he wasn’t actually completely human.
Not entirely.
The Orc tilted its head to the side, watching Vince for a moment, before dashing forward. The big sword came out in a sideways slice.
Without a thought, Vince took a step forwards and then kicked off the ground, spinning himself out horizontally over the blade. The big sword passed harmlessly underneath him.
Vince landed on his feet and used the rotation of the move to bring his saber around.
The blade caught the Orc’s forearm and stopped dead on the bone, going no further.
Orcs were sturdy creatures. Very sturdy.
The momentum of the attack did more than the edge of the blade. The weight of his blow was heavy, and though it stopped cutting at the bone, the weapon kept moving.
With a cry of pain, the Orc lost its grip on its weapon. It spun end over end into the trees and scrub nearby. It made a deep clanging sound as it rebounded off a tree.
Scrambling after it, the Orc darted into the foliage, one hand pressed to its forearm.
Chasing after it, Vince loped along; he felt confident he could catch the Orc as it reached its weapon, or right before.
