by Mike Morris
He returned to the living room and joined Kara by the window. The sun had slipped down behind the trees, washing the world in black and red. But in Rane’s eyes, every growing shadow housed a demon, every bush hid a monster. He shook the thoughts from his head. It wasn't healthy to think that way. There were no signs of any other Bracke. They were safe. His stomach churned at the thought. Disappointment.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" asked Kara, her voice edged with annoyance now. She fiddled with the locket that hung around her neck between finger and thumb, trying to stay calm. Her hair, as black as Rane's, curled down, framing her face and falling over her shoulders. The setting sun cast a golden sheen over her skin, highlighting the single scar that ran from her hairline to her jaw. The war had left its mark on so many people.
Rane sat down in one of the chairs by the window. "I was attacked by a Bracke half a mile down the hill. I... killed it. I looked for others but there was no sign."
"A Bracke? Just one?" Kara lowered herself into a chair opposite. She knew the demon dogs and what they could do. "You were lucky."
"I... had my sword."
"They’ve never been this far south before."
"That's what we all thought, and yet I found one today."
Kara looked out the window, searching the shadows as he was, but not with the same enthusiasm. "The Rastaks had packs of them when they occupied Rooktown. They'd tie trouble makers to stakes and let the devil dogs loose. Laughed as they watched them go to work." She rubbed her face as if that would help her see better. "Are you sure there aren't any others?"
"I'm sure as much as I can be — but how did it get here? And just one? It would’ve left a trail of bodies all the way here from where ever it came from. There's no way it'd be able to stay hidden."
"Maybe everyone does know? We haven't been in to town for a while."
"Someone would've warned us."
"We need to head over there, see the sheriff. Find out one way or the other. Maybe they've already heard stories of other Bracke out there," said Kara, all tensed up. She couldn't take her eyes off the yard looking for the creatures. "If they haven't, we have to let them know. Warn them."
"It'll mean search parties coming up here, walking over our land," said Rane.
"So? Better than us being attacked by another one of those things."
"It's just I..." How could he tell her that a part of him didn't want peace? That he enjoyed killing the Bracke? That there was a monster beside her just as terrible as what could be lurking outside their window? No, the time for confession was long gone. His secrets had to stay buried. He couldn’t listen to that voice that knew him too well. Spare her the truth.
Kara looked at Rane as if she was gazing right through him, taking in all that was unsaid, of what his heart wanted. It took all his courage not to look away. He'd rather have an army to fight than stand under scrutiny from his wife. She deserved better than him.
"It's the right thing to do," she said.
Rane nodded. He knew she was right. Kara was normally right about everything. He glanced over, smiled at her strength. She made him want to be a better man than he knew he was.
They watched the night draw in, lost in their thoughts.
"I was thinking we should go and see Marcus before I get too big to move," said Kara eventually.
"Up in Rooktown? It's a long way."
"It’s been nearly two years. He's my brother. And your oldest friend."
"It didn't seem like that when we parted. He threatened to kill me if I married you."
She laughed. A beautiful sound that filled Rane's heart, chasing the darkness away. "What did you expect? I'm still his baby sister. That'll never change no matter how many demons I've killed or lives I've saved. He just didn't want you running off with me."
Rane grinned, welcoming the memories. "I don't think I ran off with you. I think there was courting. Romance. I even asked Marcus for his permission."
"Was that when he knocked you out?"
Rane pretended to get indignant at the thought. "It was a sucker punch. Knocked me straight onto my backside."
"I thought the pair of you were going to draw blades at one point."
"You put a stop to it before it got out of hand." Rane looked at Kara, so beautiful, so clever, so strong. He'd be lost without her. "You were worth getting beaten up for."
"It was Marcus’ fault for bringing a good-looking man like you back from the war. What did he expect was going to happen?"
"Going by the way he talked about his little sister, I thought you were going to be all of ten years old. I think he did too. Wasn't expecting to see you so grown up when we arrived."
"You were gone a long time. And I had to grow up fast. We all did. The Rastaks saw to that."
"But things are different now. You've got the baby to think of."
"We've got the baby to think off," corrected Kara. The humour fell from her face for a moment. "It'll be good to see Marcus. Mend things. He should know he's going to be an uncle. Remind him he has family. I miss him."
"You don't regret marrying me, do you?" Rane kept the question quiet, as if it and the answer didn’t matter as much as they did.
"Not for one minute. You're the best thing that ever happened to, Nathaniel Rane. Don't ever forget that." She kissed him, her lips soft against his skin.
"I'll try not to," he said, returning the kiss.
Kara stood up and stretched her back. "Everyone may think it's a new golden age of peace but it's going to be generations before the world's recovered from what Mogai did. We need to do our best to help." She kissed him again. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Come with me."
"I'll be along shortly," he replied. He watched her head into the small bedroom, and then picked up his sword. With it in his lap, he watched the world outside. He ran his hand along the length of the scabbard, fighting the urge to free the blade once more. But there were no more monsters for him to fight, no excuse he could find in the darkness. He told himself that was a good thing. He wasn't a killer anymore.
Sword in hand, he followed Kara to the bedroom as the voice called him a liar.
2
They took the wagon into town early the next morning, each lost in their own thoughts. Rane was edgy after a troubled night's sleep. He'd not shaken off the effects of the day before and the thought of being amongst people again wasn't helping things.
Eshtery had not been much of a town once; a central market place where you could trade goods and maybe make a bit of money, an inn to wet your thirst after a long day's work, a general store that sold most of anything you could think of, churches to Odason and to Heras, and a sheriff's office with a small jail — used more for people to sleep off their drunken mistakes than for any serious crime.
The war had changed that though. People had fled south, trying to stay ahead of the Rastak armies as they'd swept across Ascalonia, looking for somewhere safe and Eshtery had given them that. More had followed on after, looking for food and work and the town had both of those too. One of Ascalonia's biggest stone quarries was only a few miles away, and as the country started to rebuild itself, the demand on it was far greater than what could be produced, even with the extra manpower.
Growing out from the main square was a motley collection of buildings thrown up in a hurry without much planning and forethought. Cheap housing for all the new workers to sleep in, cheap bars for them to drunk in and cheap brothels for them to screw in. There was even talk of a school being built for all the children that had arrived with their parents or suddenly sprung up since.
The church to Heras had been demolished as per the law and Odason’s temple was twice the size it had once been. Eshtery was far enough away from the capital that they’d not had the Inquisition coming calling yet but most attended the services none the less. Rane and Kara were among the few that didn’t. He knew that was a topic for the town gossips but no one had reported them for it yet.
As his old cart trundled
up the main road, bouncing and rattling over rocks and into potholes, shaking his bones, he wanted to be back at his cottage more than anything. If Brackes were roaming the woods, his time would be better spent hunting them down. He told himself it was because he wanted Kara to be safe but he knew that wasn't the only reason. His sword lay next to him in the wagon. Always close, always to hand. Ready to use. It was hard to believe he'd gone two years without drawing it. Now all he could think of was using it once again. And nothing deserved killing more than Heras' demon spawn.
But Kara had been right, as she normally was. As much as he wanted to hide away, they had to warn the others about the Brackes and see what else was happening in the world.
Kara sat next to him, running her thumb over her locket, her eyes moving from the road ahead, to the verges, the bushes, the trees, looking for any sort of threat. It wasn't just the news about the Brackes that made her vigilant. Three years living under a Rastak occupation had taught her to always be alert. Decades of peace wouldn't break that habit.
The sun framed her, covering her in golden hues and finding highlights in her hair, sparking off the locket in her fingers. He reached over and squeezed her other hand and she smiled in return. She deserved better than him.
The landscape changed as they drew nearer to Eshtery. Gaps appeared in the woods where trees had been hacked down for building materials or firewood. Trash littered the side of the road — a cast off boot with its sole missing, a child's toy buried in mud, the skeleton of a wagon left to be forgotten. All signs Rane had left their little sanctuary and were back in the world.
The town itself had grown even more since their last visit. A row of rickety houses, knocked together with more hope than nails, had sprouted out from the original borders. More workers for the quarry no doubt. More strangers.
The wagon rattled along the rutted road as Rane and Kara headed to the centre of town. Samuel the Miller walked towards them with a couple of sacks of grain filling his wheelbarrow. He was a brute of a man, happy to bully anyone foolish enough to get in his way, always eager to challenge anyone he felt was weak. He couldn't have been more different from Rane if he tried. Normally he'd at least try a bit of posturing in front of Rane trying to prove only the Gods knew what, but this time when he spotted Rane and Kara driving towards him his cheeks flushed and he scuttled off down a side road, almost spilling his load in his haste.
"That's odd," said Rane, watching Miller.
"What is?" replied Kara.
Rane pointed behind him with his thumb at Miller's rapidly departing figure. "Never seen him run like that before."
"Be grateful. The man's a fool."
Rane couldn't argue with Kara's assessment of the man, but still his behaviour didn't sit well.
Up ahead, a crowd had gathered around Jahn Mathew'son, the sheriff's office; a few locals stood having a heated debate with six strangers.
The new faces weren't quarry workers though — that much was obvious. They were veterans; their battered and scarred faces promised trouble, and they carried enough weapons to start a war on their own. Rane spotted a mace on one, a crossbow slung over the back of another with a full quiver of bolts on his hip, plus an enough swords and knives spread amongst the others.
A primal urge to confront the men rushed through Rane. He had to force himself to keep the cart trundling along, but his hand twitched towards his sword. They were men worth fighting. Worth killing.
The argument stopped as Rane and Kara drove past. One man, with a nose that had been broken far too many times and missing an ear, stepped forward as if he wanted words with Rane but Jahn put a hand on his arm. Violence polluted the air, filling Rane's nostrils with the tang of blood. He wanted to stop, wanted to jump down and cut them apart, but Kara squeezed his hand and somehow Rane kept driving the wagon down the road.
"What's going on there?" asked Kara once they had passed. "Who were those people?"
"I don't know," said Rane. But he did. They were men like him. Killers. "Let's go to the hardware store, get what we need from there. We can talk to Edward about what's going on. He knows everything anyway and will be more than happy to spread the word about the Brackes if we tell him."
"Okay," replied Kara, her voice no more than a whisper as she looked back over her shoulder at the men. "Sure."
They stopped their wagon in the square by the general store, climbed down and tied up the horses. Rane caught Kara watching him as he slung his sword over his back. For once she didn't object to him wearing it. Better to have a sword and not need it than need one and not have it. Not that he'd ever leave his sword behind.
Edward Marster was behind the counter, beaming that grin of his when he thought money was walking through his door. He smeared his thin white hair back down over the top of his head. "Morning, Mr and Mrs Rane. What can I do you for today?"
Kara stepped forward, smiled a greeting. "Strange group of men gathered at the sheriff's. There been some trouble that you know of?" Rane stood to the side, happy to let his wife do the talking.
Edward leaned forward to peer out his window to see for himself, not able to hide his annoyance that he hadn't noticed what was going on for himself. "I couldn't possibly say. Best to mind one's own business and leave others to mind theirs. That's my motto and it works well enough for me."
Kara caught Rane's eye. They both knew Edward's words couldn't be further from the truth. The man's knowledge of local gossip spanned back generations.
"We're just here for some supplies, Mr Marster. Nothing else," said Kara. "We need some door locks if you have them, plus some metal bolts for the windows to start."
"Well, now that I can help you with. Got some good ones just arrived the other day from up in Candra, the capitol." Edward put a box on the counter. "The Queen herself has these in her palace. They're what stopped the Rastaks from eating her up back in the war days."
"Now Mr Marster, you wouldn't be exaggerating just a little bit?" said Kara, laughing.
"You doubting my word?" Edward sniffed at the suggestion. "It says so on the box. 'By Royal Appointment' — what else do you think it means?"
"Even so," replied Kara, "I hardly think..."
The doorbell above the door rang as someone entered the store.
"Morning all," said Jahn Mathew'son. Jahn had been too old to fight in the war but he still had the build of a man who could handle himself, even if age had softened the edges. His long white hair was tied up in a ponytail and a beard covered half his face, giving him the look of a kind grandfather but no one was fooled. You didn't mess with Jahn if you had any sense, as many a miner had found to their cost. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"I was just telling Mrs Rane about this here window bolt," said Edward. "And how the Queen herself..."
"Then you won't mind if I steal Mr Rane off you for a bit," said Jahn. "He and me need to have a chat about a couple of things."
"Is everything all right?" asked Kara.
"Nothing for you to worry about. Just some questions I need answering." He turned to Rane. "Would you mind having stepping outside?"
"Sure," replied Rane. "But whatever you've got to say to me, you can say it in front of my wife."
Jahn tilted his head in agreement. "As you wish." He waited while Rane and Kara stepped back out into the street before following.
"What's this about, Jahn?" asked Kara.
The sheriff glanced at the sword on Rane's back before answering. "You might’ve noticed some men at my office as you passed."
"I did," replied Rane.
"They're bounty hunters." Jahn shrugged. "Not how I'd earn my living but these days I suppose you do what you have to do."
"What have they got to do with my husband?" said Kara.
Jahn glanced her way then turned his attention back to Rane. He produced a folded piece of paper from his waistcoat. "Have a look at this."
Rane opened up the crumbled paper, torn at the edges where it had been ripped from a wall. The Queen's s
tandard stood next to the Imperial seal of Fascaly, and the sigils of the other allies from the war — Souska, Nortlund and Naijin.
The words were smudged but clear enough to make out. 'Reward: ten thousand gold pieces for any member of the Legion Of Swords dead or alive. Known by the scar on their right hand and by the sword they carry, they are wanted for the crimes of murder, collaboration and treason.' Both the scar and the sword were illustrated. Rane had to read the poster several times as his mind struggled to take in the words, his anger building. Why would the rulers of the five nations put out an arrest warrant on the Legion? For those crimes? "What's this mean?"
"Just what it says there, Mr Rane. Someone's offering a lot of money for Legionnaires and they're not fussed what state they get them in."
Rane glanced at the reward note one more time. There was no mistake, he was a wanted man with a price on his head. "This doesn't make any sense."
Jahn shifted his feet and chewed his lip, looking as uncomfortable with the situation as he could be. "That's as well be. I'm just a small town sheriff so I'm not privy to the thinking of governments. But it leaves me with a bit of a problem, not least of which is I've got six men looking to collect a share in that reward."
Rane swallowed the urge to draw his sword there and then. "Go on."
"They seem to think you're one of them. A Legionnaire." Jahn glanced at Kara. "Now I know you were a soldier, and did your duty in the war, but I told them boys they're mistaken when it comes to you. However, there's no denying that's a Legionnaire's sword on your back now is there?"
"No. No, there's not." Rane's jaw tightened.
Jahn's moustache twitched as he tried to smile as if he knew how close to dying he really was. "Of course, I told them that it was just a souvenir that someone gave you and owning a sword wasn't proof in itself. So I've come down to see if you have a matching scar too. Because if you do, that'll change things."
Rane knew what he wanted to see. The scar, still violently white against his sunburned skin, as if it had only formed the day before. The permanent reminder of a night long ago. The mark that only he and his fellow comrades bore. The proof of who he really was and what he'd done.
