The Riders of Thunder Realm

by Steven Lochran

  ‘I –’ Joss started.

  But Sur Verity silenced him with her cold gaze. ‘I see,’ she said, her eye flicking back to Lord Malkus. ‘My lord, I feel I must object. Setting aside whatever noble intentions he may have had, Josiah has been rewarded enough for his flagrant breaking of the rules. What kind of message would it send to the other prentices if his insubordination was met with further accolades?’

  Joss felt his face flush. He knew she was mad, but he’d shown Sur Verity nothing but loyal and outstanding service for five years now. Didn’t that count for anything?

  ‘You make a strong point, Sur Verity,’ Lord Malkus replied, and Joss felt his stomach drop through the floor. ‘Sarif, give us the room. Sur Verity and I have things to discuss.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Joss said as calmly as he could manage. As he turned to leave, he risked a glance at Sur Verity. She was glaring at him. And without meaning to, he glared back. Realising what he’d done, he wrestled control of himself and dashed from the room.

  Closing the door behind him, Joss lingered to hear the two paladeros speak again. Their voices were muffled through the thick wood and heavy stone, but if he pressed his ear against the door he could hear snatches of what they were saying. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He did everything he could to stay as still and silent as he could, so that he could hear every word possible.

  ‘… unprecedented … defiance …’ Sur Verity was saying, her tone heated.

  ‘… exemplary … up until now …?’ Lord Malkus replied, his voice quieter.

  ‘… not the point … shouldn’t go unpunished …’

  ‘… five years … everything that it takes …’

  ‘… taking his side, my lord?’

  ‘… not about sides, Verity … what’s right for the lad.’

  ‘… what’s “right” should be what’s fair for all … And if he’s not ready, it could prove fatal not just for him …’

  They lowered their voices to a hush. Joss pressed his face flat against the door, the wood rumbling beneath his ear. Finally, he heard Lord Malkus say, ‘… tell you when I’ve made my decision.’

  There was a sound of rustling, as if someone was moving, and Joss leapt away from the door just as it swung open. Sur Verity stepped out, closing the door behind her. She stared at Joss suspiciously and he gave her his best look of innocence. It didn’t seem to help.

  ‘Sarif, you’re on manure duty. From now until further notice. Get to work,’ she snapped at him, leaving him alone in the hallway.

  ‘Muck,’ he cursed to himself, painfully aware of just how appropriate that sentiment was.

  Storm clouds had rolled in to drench Round Shield Ranch. Joss listened to the rain pounding on the tin roof as he shovelled lizard muck into the stained cart propped beside him. Plenty of farmers paid good money for thunder lizard manure, and usually it was the fieldservs’ job to collect it and bag it all up. Trying hard not to breathe through his nose, Joss hoped that his punishment wouldn’t see him carrying out every step of the process.

  The stables were empty, with all the animals having been moved out to make it easier to clean. Joss would have preferred the company, however, with the rain echoing especially loudly through the vacant space.

  Stopping a moment to wipe his brow, he looked out at the statue of the Sleeping King that sat in the middle of the cobblestone courtyard. It was unusual to see such a thing out in the open air, far away from any High Chamber, but Lord Malkus’s predecessor had apparently been a pious man and had insisted that the paladeros of Round Shield Ranch be the same.

  The statue was carved from crystal – as was typical of most Sleeping King effigies – and depicted a gigantic figure lying on its back, covered in a shroud that obscured its face, with an open crown circling its forehead. Joss had never seen such a thing before coming to Ai. His people hadn’t worshipped the Sleeping King, nor any other deity. They had prayed to their ancestors for wisdom and guidance instead.

  Joss would watch every morning as the other prentices and fieldservs filed past the Sleeping King’s statue and touched the hem of its shroud for luck, and every morning he would consider doing the same. After all, he could use all the luck he could get. Especially now.

  But something always held him back: the nagging doubt that his ancestors might really be watching him, and his parents in particular. What would they make of him showing devotion to the Sleeping King? Would they think he’d forgotten them? That alone was enough to keep him from joining the line. And the others never failed to notice.

  Just as he was about to return to his work, he spotted a figure lumbering through the rain, past the statue and towards the stable. As the figure drew closer, Joss realised with a shock that it was Lord Malkus. The chief paladero looked unbothered by the wet as he marched through puddles without breaking his stride. He had no offsiders with him, no Sur Verity, no gawping prentice. He was alone, and he was walking with determination towards Joss.

  Trying to look busy, Joss started shovelling the lizard muck twice as fast. The metal of the spade scraped against the stone floor of the stable as he scooped up as much manure as he could and tipped it into the cart. Unfortunately, half the load overshot the rim of the cart just as Lord Malkus walked into the stable.

  Splat!

  Joss winced. When finally he dared to open his eyes again, he saw Lord Malkus staring down at the filth that now encrusted his boots.

  ‘My lord, I’m so sorry, I didn’t –’

  ‘Good to see you so hard at work, Sarif,’ Lord Malkus said, his lip curling as he kicked off the muck. ‘I hope you’re not too busy to spare me a moment.’

  ‘Of course not, my lord,’ Joss said, holding his shovel like a spear with its tip on the ground as he stood to attention. Lord Malkus stared at him from beneath a cocked eyebrow before he started to pace the stable, inspecting the humble surrounds.

  ‘I’ve spoken with Sur Verity and I’ve given serious consideration to the matter …’ he said, running a gloved hand along a nearby shelf and frowning at the dust he collected.

  Joss waited in agony for him to continue, wondering if this was the moment that his life at Round Shield Ranch would come to an end. Had anyone ever won the Gauntlet and then been expelled from their order in the same week?

  But Lord Malkus didn’t say anything. He simply continued to pace around the empty stable, inspecting the corners of the room, his every step landing with a clunk. ‘We’ve not really talked much in the time you’ve been here, have we?’ his lordship asked, finally.

  Joss blinked in confusion. ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘So I wouldn’t have ever told you about my experience at Crescent Cove.’ Lord Malkus stopped pacing to stand directly in front of Joss with his arms folded behind his back.

  ‘No, my lord …’ Joss said again, as it was the only thing he could say. What he really wanted to do was shout, ‘Are you expelling me or sending me on the Way? Either way, stop torturing me!’

  ‘It’s quite the tale, actually. And you may be surprised at its significance.’ Lord Malkus turned towards the corner of the room, where a wooden stool was propped. His bones creaked as he lowered himself down to sit on it. Positioning hi
mself comfortably, he continued.

  ‘Just over ten years ago now, I travelled to Crescent Cove for a reunion with my old Bladebound brethren. Sur Hammond had just been named Lord of Harbourside Homestead and we had planned a celebration in his honour, which lasted long into the night. When morning came, we were disturbed by what felt like a tremendous earthquake. Rushing outside, we could see the island city of Daheed on the horizon, just as it had always been, but now with what looked to be a great black hole torn open in the sky above it.

  ‘The hole appeared to be sucking the island into itself, tearing off chunks to swallow. We could see small dots struggling in the wind as they were drawn up towards the tear, and I realised in horror that those dots were people. I don’t know if I could actually hear the screams or if I simply imagined them, but I still wake at night with the sound echoing in my ears …’

  Lord Malkus gazed at nothing, lost in memory. Slowly, Joss sank down to sit on a bale of hay opposite him. Having never met anyone who’d had any experience of Daheed – let alone seen its destruction – Joss was desperate to hear the lord’s story. His own memories of the event were scattered and hazy, tiny fragments that slipped through his hands more and more with every passing year. Thankfully, Joss’s movement was enough to stir Malkus from his daze.

  ‘My brethren and I wanted to help,’ he went on. ‘But before we could do anything the tear grew larger, dropping down on Daheed to consume it whole. The ocean became a storm of white waves as the tear dragged the whole island down into the depths, never to be seen again. It was … mesmerising.’

  Lord Malkus lapsed into another silence, though this one was mercifully shorter than the last.

  ‘We remained on the shore, searching for any sign of life. Finally, Sur Hammond spotted something in the distance. A small raft. When it came close enough for us to pull it in, we found inside a young woman, bloodied and barely alive, clutching a small child to her. “Please,” she said. “Please –”’

  ‘“Please look after my son. His name is Josiah. Josiah Sarif,”’ Joss said, finishing Lord Malkus’s words for him. He knew them by heart, after all.

  ‘You remember? You were so young …’ Lord Malkus said with some surprise.

  ‘I remember a paladero. He looked strong. And heroic. And he spoke in a way that made me feel safe after – after everything that had happened,’ Joss replied, the image still so clear in his mind even after all the years in between. He stared at Lord Malkus in disbelief. ‘That was you?’

  ‘I still had my pearly whites then. And a fresh-shaven face,’ the lord replied, rubbing a hand through his thick beard. ‘I swore to your mother that I would take care of you. She handed you to me, I pulled you from the raft, and she was gone. She’d held on just long enough to get you to safety.

  ‘I arranged a place for you at the Orphan House in Makepeace, so that you’d be close. The Orphan Master – Derric – is an old friend. When he told me that you’d expressed an interest in becoming a paladero, I waived the traditional age requirements and had you taken on as a prentice to Sur Verity. It helped that Derric could personally vouch for your aptitude.’

  ‘I never knew …’ Joss said, almost dizzy at the revelation.

  ‘And nor should you have. It’s not my business to be your patron. I just vowed to keep you safe. What you’ve accomplished you’ve earned on your own merit,’ Lord Malkus replied, and stood up. As tall as he normally was, he looked bigger than a giant now. ‘You showed real loyalty to your friend in running the Gauntlet, Josiah, and great courage in facing off against the tyrannosaur when Sur Luther’s life was threatened. Those qualities are what we look for in every paladero, and those qualities are too sorely lacking in this day and age. I believe you’ve earned a chance to prove yourself.’

  ‘Does that mean …?’ Joss pulled himself up onto his feet, though he still felt tiny in Lord Malkus’s presence.

  ‘That means, Josiah, that I’ll send you on the Way. Whether or not you become a paladero? That remains up to you.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  A TOWN CALLED RESILIENT

  JOSS took his canteen from his saddlebag, pressed it to his lips, and found it empty. ‘You’re going to need to ration your water better than that when you’re on the Way,’ Sur Verity called out from behind him, and he shifted around in his saddle to look at her. He hadn’t seen her take a single sip of water in the many hours they’d been riding, and still she looked as cool and composed as ever.

  Joss was no stranger to long rides in the heat. He’d lost count of the number of musters he’d done, helping the paladeros drive hundreds of heads of livestock to the Southern Market. But this was different. This was the first real step on his journey to becoming an actual paladero. And the rush of nerves that came with that thought made his mouth run dry.

  ‘Take my canteen,’ Edgar had offered as Joss and Sur Verity set about getting ready that morning. ‘It holds more than your waterskin does.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Joss asked, and Edgar nodded.

  ‘I still can’t believe it. You’re actually going to be a paladero …’ he said, sounding wistful. Joss wondered if that had to do with some small sense of jealousy on Edgar’s part, or a feeling of impending loneliness.

  ‘Don’t count your pterosaurs just yet. I still have to complete the Way. And all the training, if I make it through.’ Joss looked across the yard and saw a familiar face staring icily back. ‘And that’s if Sur Verity doesn’t kill me first.’

  Sur Verity had clearly not been thrilled with Lord Malkus’s decision. Not that she’d said anything. She’d let her hard stare speak for her instead. It didn’t bode well for what kind of company she’d be on the road to Tower Town, the place that would serve as a capital for Thunder Realm if it had one. Traditionally, a paladero would escort the aspiring candidate there, serving as a sponsor on the prentice’s behalf. Joss had hoped that Lord Malkus might act as his, but the responsibility had fallen to Sur Verity.

  When Joss and Sur Verity had been packed and ready to go, many of the prentices and fieldservs set aside their work to come and see them off. Joss had been surprised by this, given that they’d been shunning him for days, if not his whole life. Perhaps it was the fact that Lord Malkus had endorsed him, thereby removing the black mark from his name. Or maybe it was just their natural curiosity getting the better of them. For whatever reason they had turned out in droves, forming a crowd that encircled both him and Sur Verity.

  ‘Good luck, Joss. Do us proud!’ Edgar had said, clapping him on the back. And though you could never have said that the small prentice was influential among his peers, this sign of support had started all the others doing the same, smacking Joss so hard on the shoulders that he felt like a rug being beaten clean.

  ‘Good riding!’ one prentice told him, the others joining him in a chorus. Their enthusiasm became so overwhelming that Joss had no idea what to make of it, though as always Horace Vahst was there to throw a cold bucket of water over everything.

  ‘Try not to get lost, Sarif. I don’t have time to come carry your pathetic backside home again!’ he hooted, his belly shaking.

  Lord Malkus himself had settled to watch from the battlements, offering Joss only a spare nod when he’d looked up. Joss had nodded in return, a small gesture that
didn’t at all convey the gratitude he felt for this opportunity.

  ‘Come on, Sarif. No time for lollygagging,’ Sur Verity said, cantering past. Urging Azof to increase his speed, Joss took his last look at the familiar walls of Round Shield Ranch and then rode through the gates and into the world.

  Mounted on their raptors and with no livestock to muster, they travelled far more quickly than usual. Forgoing the main roads, they instead took a series of byways that splintered off in every possible direction, making it awfully easy to get lost. But Sur Verity knew every twist and turn as if she had a map tattooed to the back of her eyelid. Joss could only hope that he’d be half as confident when the time came for him to ride without her guidance.

  They travelled through fields of golden flowers that glowed in the sun. They passed over raging rivers and through windswept valleys. The few roads they traversed weren’t made of sealed tar but were instead paved with the crushed bones of long dead thunder lizards. Whenever they encountered one of these roads, Joss noticed that Azof ’s steps became lighter and more hurried. Joss wasn’t sure if that was because the sharp little edges of the bone were painful under his mount’s

  feet, or if the raptor had some grim knowledge of what exactly he was treading upon.

  Soon enough the sun was setting, so they stopped at a rambling roadside inn dubbed The Sword & Scabbard, with a placard depicting a half-sheathed blade above its door. After stabling their mounts, they headed to the tavern in search of food. Inside, a mechanoid the size and shape of a furnace was playing an old paladero song, while the patrons sang along at the top of their lungs.