Ragged Heroes

by Andy Peloquin

  Madrid clapped Wizard Tanis on the shoulder. “Congratulations, emperor!” He clapped his hands and servants entered, heads bowed. “Remove these filthy pallets and clean the chamber. Bring a round table and chairs representing every province.” They bowed and set about the commanded task.

  “Come, there is something I want to show you.” He led Wizard Tanis to the window that overlooked Bastion. A shimmering white bridge had appeared, arching from the Citadel to the shore across the keep’s moat. The moat had widened into a rift that fell away into the depths of the earth. The crack extended out along the border between Fjord and Bastion, all the way to the monster-filled sea, and already water was flooding into the void. He led Tanis to the other windows. The view from each displayed a shining new bridge of welcome.

  “Your people will be able to come to the Citadel directly, not gathering before one bridge as in the past. And look here,” he said, pointing at the border between Bastion and Samos. “See that shimmer? It is a wall enhanced by magic. No longer will the provinces be able to attack one another directly. Their borders are now secure, secured by the control of magic from your office, here.”

  Wizard Tanis stroked his short beard and smiled. “Very good, adept. You will make an excellent apprentice to me. You have learned well. I would never have thought to eliminate the council as a way to world peace, but I must admit, it was a stroke of genius. I will miss the old buzzards, but this is for the best. We need to keep our eye on what is best for Gaia, for the world at large. We are the only two wizards left in all of Gaia.”

  Madrid frowned. “There is that runt, Ramos. He still walks free.”

  “He is no wizard. Without further training, his minuscule abilities will wither and die like a rain-starved sprout. He is irrelevant.”

  “Perhaps you are right. What is your next plan, emperor?”

  Tanis smiled at the form of address, preening with pride. “The witches, of course. They wield a different form of magic, it is true, yet it is still magic. All must be under our control. It is time to turn our attention to them and root them out of their hidey holes.” He turned to Madrid and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know you are more than up to the challenge. Take the Citadel guards and begin a campaign. Oh, and one other thing, from this moment on, I am no longer Wizard Tanis. My new name shall be Emperor Pious.”

  “As you wish, emperor.” Madrid bowed, and left the man, smiling down on the bridges formed by the bones of his former friends.

  ***

  Ramos and Cara bounced on the hard wooden floor as a wheel rolled over a rock. The rough cloth of their hand-woven cloaks scratched their arms with the shifting of the wagon bead. They tugged at the threadbare hoods, pulling them forward to cast their faces into shadow. Feet dangling over the edge, they ignored the guards as much as possible.

  “Kiss me,” hissed Cara, “right now!”

  Ramos’s head turned, in surprise, and Cara bent in and kissed him full on the lips. Shocked, he froze, enjoying the sensation of her lips pressed to his. At first, they were hard, firm, but then they softened. He began to explore her mouth and just as suddenly she pulled away, blushing.

  Dazed, Ramos said “What was that for?”

  “Guards,” she whispered, and her blush deepened. “You didn’t have to enjoy it so much!” she snapped, to cover her embarrassment.”

  Ramos barked a laugh. “Why not?” He peeked out of his hood at the guards, who had been lost to view by the next wagon rumbling across the ancient bridge from the Citadel. “Look, it’s not like it’s my first…” His voice trailed away as he felt a surge of magical energy such as he had never felt before. It was like every elemental element on Gaia convulsed in unison. His stomach rolled, and he threw up as he felt the leeching of magic from his own soul. Gagging, he retched again.

  Alarmed, Cara bent over him and grabbed the back of his cloak lest he fall out of the bouncing wagon.

  “Ramos, are you okay? What happened? Ramos!”

  Ramos wiped his sleeve across his mouth and pushed himself upright. “Something awful has happened. Something horrifying.” He shuddered. “Magic. It’s gone. Someone has stolen it. It’s gone.”

  “Ramos, that can’t be. I still feel magic. It must be a side effect of my healing.”

  At that moment, an earthquake struck, tossing the wagon sideways and flinging them out the back to the ground. Rocks quivered and bounced beside them as the land groaned. The moat they had just crossed ripped open and rock fell into the chasm, swallowing up the banks. The ancient stone bridge cracked and fell into the opening along with every wagon, beast and person unfortunate enough to be on the bridge when it collapsed. Screams rent the air then faded away as the source of the sound fell out of range. The quaking stopped and Ramos looked up to see a new bridge standing in its place, pure white and gleaming. Identical bridges presented themselves at the borders of the various provinces. To Ramos, they looked like the limbs of a ten-legged spider.

  Cara gasped and pointed to the border a few hundred feet away. A shimmering wall rose into the sky, and Ramos did not need to touch it to know it would be deadly. In that shimmering field he could see every element of magic. The world had changed within the stroke of a hundred heartbeats.

  “Cara, we need to get out of here. Now!” Clasping her hand, they ran to two wandering rider less horses and scrambled into the saddles, heeling them into a full gallop. Ramos cared not where they went, only that they put themselves as far from the Citadel as possible. There was no more room for magic in Bastion. There was no room for magic in all of Gaia. As he rode away, Ramos knew his life had changed forever. He, as the last wizard of the keep, was a hunted man, and would stay a hunted man, forever.

  THE END

  ***

  Continue The Heart of the Citadel series in book one

  Heart of Destiny

  www.susanfaw.com

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  About the Author

  Susan’s love of stories began before she could read or write. Her earliest childhood memories are of a make believe game she played with her sister, creating and telling an epic story inspired by a picture chosen at random from a National Geographic magazine.

  Susan spent her summers reading and writing sometimes serious, sometimes humorous works of fiction, imagining the worlds beyond her bedroom walls.

  Susan is an avid reader of literature, especially science fiction and fantasy. She loves to bring new worlds and fantasy adventures to young adults and inspire them to join her on her make believe journeys.

  You can find Susan at www.susanfaw.com, on twitter @susandfaw or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/SusanFaw.

  We are thrilled to announce that book one of the Spirit Shield Saga, SEER OF SOULS is THE 2016 CHANTICLEER REVIEWS DANTE ROSSETTI GRAND PRIZE WINNER for Young Adult Fiction!

  The Last Ashosi

  Oz Monroe

  The cloak gave it away. No matter how much rain matted his hair, or mud caked his face, or even how his entrails spilled out to cover the rest of his body, the cloak was unmistakable. On the only patch of unsoiled cloth, a rose petal that Yulich embroidered with her own two hands stood out against the deep green fabric.

  “Come, my child, let’s get you out of the rain. My boys will take care of him.” The old woman put one frail hand on Yulich’s back and tried to gently guide her out of the village square, away from her father’s body, and away from the silent stares of the villagers. They all stood a respectful distance away, huddled out of the rain under thatched eaves of circular earthen huts. Curious children were kept tethered to their parents with stern looks and unspoken threats of punishment.

  Later they would send their condolences, and warm food, to atone for the guilt of not believing her, and for the relief that it wasn’t their loved one covered in mud and viscera. But for now, they were content to pretend their distance from the body was out of respect.

&nb
sp; Daireh’s well-meaning insistence to lead her away was an attempt to protect Yulich from the brutal finality all must someday face. As if death would pass over those that refrained from morbid reflection. Death wasn’t an unwanted thought that would simply fade away if ignored. It was an unavoidable and inevitable conclusion.

  “Come now, they know what’s to be done.” Again, Daireh gave a gentle push. “They’ll bury him next to your mother and sisters.”

  “No, leave him.”

  Daireh stiffened at the harshness in Yulich’s voice, then nodded her assumed understanding, and fell silent.

  Let the old woman think it some form of sentimentality or unwillingness to let her father go. So long as he, and the surrounding tracks, were left unmarred. This was the second killing in as many weeks. Everyone thought Hanni had been killed by a desperate lion that had been scared off its kill before it could drag the bodies out of the village. Except for Yulich. She recognized the signs; nothing from any of the bodies had been eaten or removed. Shredded, mangled, crushed, yes, but not eaten. Last time the tracks had been spoiled by grief-stricken family members before anyone could get a look. She wanted them to know, down to their very souls, that had they listened to her after the first killing and sent for help, her father would be alive.

  This time the pristine tracks were there for all to see. Not that she felt anyone in the village would know what to do. This was far beyond what simple farmers could handle. She wanted to make sure everyone got a good look at the foot prints of what had been terrorizing the village. Whatever did this had human like feet with claws longer than a large man’s finger.

  Yulich again noticed the rose on her father’s cloak. All the villagers recognized the workmanship as the best in the land. Yulich’s father wore it with honor. He’d smile and say that it was fit for a king because it was made by his princess. No amount of ribbing or jeering could ever break through his steadfast pride in his only surviving daughter. Always quick with a kind word and free with compliments, Yulich’s father was, had been, the best possible father any girl could hope for.

  The rain stopped and Yulich wiped away the tears. Mid-morning light now peeked through the clouds, which should have urged the birds to come out and sing, yet the square was quiet but for the rhythmic squelch of a horse and rider approaching from the north.

  “Who is that?” Yulich turned to Daireh, who shook her head and shrugged.

  Couldn’t have been anyone local. The horses around there had known only the plow and weren’t nearly as big…and none had patchy burn scars across the left side of their face, neck, and chest…and they all had both their ears. The rider wore a dark brown cloak, deep hood pulled low, knotwork insignia of the Ashosi over the right breast.

  As they drew near, a whispered name began to spread around the square. A name that brought hope to some, and fear to others. Children, implicitly restrained from ogling a dead body, succumbed to the allure of a stranger on a horse and dashed out into the muddy village square.

  “That can’t be Krestan, can it?” Yulich’s stomach twisted from despair and uncertainty, to apprehension, laced with hope.

  “It’s Krestan, alright.” Daireh said with the self-assurance that could only be found in an elder. “He’s the only Ashosi that survived the uprising. And only the commander of the Ashosi could handle a horse that dangerous. Just look at that magnificent—"

  The giant dapple grey tripped over its own foot and stumbled.

  “—still, it’s an intimidating beast.” Daireh finished, undeterred from her praise.

  It put its head down and its good ear went cockeyed with embarrassment.

  “Huh, well, it’s a big horse, at least.” She stared into Yulich’s eyes, daring her to dispute this fact.

  “But what’s he doing here? Do you think he’s here to hunt the creature?”

  “I hope so. If half the stories of him are true, the creature won’t stand a chance.”

  “But if the other half of the stories are true, neither will most of the village.”

  “You can’t believe every bit of gossip you hear.”

  “That gossip came from you.”

  “I would never spread gossip, especially not about an Ashosi.” Again, she gave the stare that dared contradiction.

  “What?” Yulich had trouble backing down from a challenge. “You told the elders that if they brought Krestan here he would insist on deflowering every virgin girl in the village. And half the boys. That he craved attention because he was nothing but a whiny little boy that had sucked at his mother’s tit for too long. And that if he showed up you were going to shove your cane right up his backside. Only you didn’t say backside.” And those weren’t the worst of the rumors.

  “Hush now, Yully. He’s here.” The deflection was as close as Daireh would get to admitting defeat, which was good enough for Yulich.

  Krestan stopped the horse next to them, just short of the tracks surrounding the body. After a heavy sigh from deep within the hood, the Ashosi swung one leg backwards over the rump of the horse and climbed down the side of the saddle like a ladder. Up close, he looked small, not much bigger than Yulich herself. He untied a walking stick from the saddle bags and slogged through the mud to stand at her father’s side.

  “How long has this…” he bent down for a closer look at the body “…man, been dead?” His voice was raspy yet soft, like the tongue of a feline, with an accent much like the northern nobility.

  “Sometime in the night. He didn’t come home. Are you here to kill the creature that did this?”

  Krestan inspected the tracks with the tip of his cane. Two fingers were missing from his left hand, giving the impression that he held it with a claw.

  “I’m surprised no one trampled the prints here. They are remarkably clear.”

  “I kept everyone away. They thought Hanni was killed by a lion last week. I told them lions don’t shred the heart, liver, and lungs, and eat nothing. They didn’t believe me. They do now that they can all see, clear as day, that those are no lion tracks. Now that it’s too late. My father’s dead because no one would listen to me.” Damn the quiver in her voice and the unbidden tears. She wiped her face and walled off the despair. No man took a young weeping woman seriously.

  “He isn’t the first killed like this?” Krestan straightened, threw back the hood and stared intently at Yulich. “A week ago? Someone was killed, like this, a week ago?”

  The two villagers looked at each other and back at the Ashosi.

  “Um…” Yulich managed to say, then fell silent again.

  “Listen, this is damn important. Are you sure the other was killed exactly like this, seven day ago?”

  “…” Daireh began, then closed her mouth again.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you two?”

  “Are you Krestan?” Yulich finally asked.

  “Damn right I am. Now, about the death last week?”

  “It’s just, you know, I thought, well, we thought, that Krestan was a man.”

  “Seriously?! Do I look like a man?” Intricate sliver braids wove around half her head and disappeared into her cloak, standing in stark contrast to her dark, winkled skin. The left half of her head, along with face and neck, had been terribly burned, and a patch with the Ashosi knotwork covered her eye. She was beautifully fierce, and looked nothing like a man.

  “But Krestan is a man’s name.” Daireh whispered.

  “Clearly not.” Krestan stared the old woman down, daring her to challenge this fact. Now that that’s out of the way…the one that was killed last week…?”

  “Um, yes, well, Yully is right. Hanni was killed seven days ago and just like this.”

  “And now this man—”

  “My father.”

  “And now your father, and who else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The creature kills three or four on the second hunt. More people of your village have been killed.”

  “How do you know?”

&nb
sp; “Because that’s what has happened in the last seven villages.” A look of determination and regret passed Krestan’s face as her gaze fell to the body.

  “Oh, my!” Daireh brought both hands to her mouth, eyes wide and tearing.

  “What do we do?”

  “First, you bury your father. I’m going to follow the tracks before the rain…” Her voice trailed off. “Did it rain all night?”

  “I think so, why?”

  “Fuck me, I can’t believe I missed it. Damn this doddered mind. Gather everyone here, now.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “These tracks haven’t been washed away or filled with water. This kill is fresh, and the creature may still be in the village.” Without another word, or looking back, the Ashosi stalked off

  Yulich stood in worshipful awe as Krestan, intent on the creature’s tracks, stalked away without a glance at her warhorse. The giant beast stood rock still, eyes half closed in contentment. It was surely the finest trained horse in the world.

  “So,” Yulich said to Daireh out of the side of her mouth, “you still going to stick your cane up her ass?”

  ***

  Krestan had never been so close to the creature. No blasted way would it have stayed ahead when she was twenty years younger. Hell, ten years younger. Now there were fresh tracks to follow. Anticipation invigorated her aging body. No longer did she ache from toes to tits, or limp from the piercing pain in her hips, or care about the numbness of her ass from the long ride.

  Shit, did she leave her horse behind again? What old age gave in wisdom it took in memory. Thank the gods Blossom was the laziest horse in the world. Blasted mare would stand in the same spot for weeks rather than exert the meager energy it would take to wander off. Best to leave her behind now. Don’t want to let on to the villagers how forgetful she had become in her dotage.