{46}
A formal military voice shot over every corner of Fort Mire. Private Josaph Pierce could hear it well from his chair in the infirmary. Despite protocol, the voice from the loud speakers could not subdue its mounting enthusiasm. Josaph looked up from the bed that contained his healing friend Mason. Despite the growing joy swallowing the hospital ward, Josaph could not help but feel deep, sinking gloom.
“Now hear this. Now hear this. Confirmation has reached Fort Mire from General Cresul’s forces. Bannar has been neutralized. I repeat. The threat of Bannar is neutralized. Our forces were victorious.”
A resounding eruption of cheers exploded in Fort Mire. It was nigh overwhelming. The nurses and doctors shook hands and hugged as songs of celebration stirred around the infirmary walls. Josaph closed his eyes. Victory. Such a hallow word now. He discovered that his fists were shaking.
“You hear that, Joe? We won today.” Mason smiled weakly to his friend. He was still recovering from surgery but was informed that he was going to make a full recovery.
“We sure did, Mason. We sure did.” Josaph smiled back. Around them a mixed reaction wore on from their other wounded comrades. Josaph stood. “I’ll sneak you a beer in for the occasion.”
“Thanks, Joe.” Nothing else needed to be said. They’d both been at the massacre. Their concerns now lived or died with them.
Josaph Pierce ventured outside the infirmary. The soldiers of Fort Mire embraced the moment in earnest. Josaph watched on, unable to deny the tears forming in his eyes. It has begun. There is no turning back. We are at war now with an honorable, undeserving enemy, the lies we have been fed fanning the flames. And I am now a wild card thrown in the mix. I pray for the grace to get me through this alive.
Josaph knew that it was not just about Vallance anymore. There was no doubt that his every move would be under a microscope among his own. His loyalty was in question. There was the possibility that he knew too much. His survival, his ability to see Elisha again was solely up to him.
Josaph Pierce greeted a fellow soldier with a back-slapping hug. Exchanging words of cheer he didn’t really mean, he took an offered drink, clanging it against others before draining it in a heavy pull. He danced. He sang. He spread the good word. His country had dealt a mighty blow upon their enemy, and it was time to savor every moment.
And with every passing second his heart tore that much more.
{47}
The news traveled fast, even to Morganne, located on the edge of Vallance. Jozlyn Corzon still found it hard to believe what she had heard. The information was fresh in her mind. Received only yesterday, it still haunted her every thought. Jozlyn had tried to dismiss it, but the courier was Axiter born and true. She resigned herself to the worst. Bannar is gone. The heart of Vallance is destroyed. The Asheners are no more. What I would not give to make it untrue.
Jozlyn secured the straps of the saddle on Surewind. Her horse had always served her well and she was certain to return the favor. Jozlyn was packed and set with everything she could carry. Her brown leather coat drifted lazily in the breeze. Banishing her apprentice firearm, Jozlyn now wore two powerful Morganne pistols upon her hips. She looked at the majestic weapons now, instruments of pure destruction she had taken from her father’s gun case. I was meant to have these someday. These were to be my gifts when I surpassed my father and reached far beyond a mere apprentice. Circumstances have changed that, circumstances that have altered my course forever and cannot be undone.
Tightening the final straps, Jozlyn looked over her shoulder at Shan Fellar. He sat painfully stern on his borrowed horse. He was still in no shape for travel, but he was accompanying the gunslinger just the same. Jozlyn had bandaged his legs as best she could. She would have to watch him on their journey. An unchecked infection on the road could spell disaster. Jozlyn met his eyes and he gave her a reassuring smile that held no reassurance. She knew that somehow, he was ready despite his injuries. And in her own heart, she knew she would not be returning to Morganne ever again.
Jozlyn checked the water skins again. It was the third time, but she had to do something. She was scared and she accepted that. Even so, Jozlyn also knew without a doubt that this was the only choice for her. Whatever kept her here, whatever that bound Jozlyn to her home died in the ashes of Bannar. She wished she had seen it sooner. It had taken a young boy she didn’t even know to show her the truth of her feelings.
The sun had just begun its ascent into morning. Jozlyn wanted to be gone before she had to make any goodbyes, but that prospect was quickly diminishing. Even now as she triple-checked her gear, her cousin Doyle watched her disapprovingly. He thought she was making a mistake. She had tried to explain, knowing that he would not understand. Luckily, Doyle had promised to keep his trap shut. Jozlyn would accept that as a small victory at least.
Doyle’s hands were crossed as he shook his head slowly. “At least think about it some more. You know your pop won’t be too happy when he finds out.” He spat once to the ground, continuing. “Hell, he’ll have caught up with you by noon. You have to know that, Joz.”
Jozlyn petted Surewind. The horse nuzzled her affectionately. She looked through the gate. “I don’t care. I’m not staying. Don’t try to talk me out of it and remember your promise.”
Doyle threw his hands up, clearly frustrated. The motion seemed clumsy from the tall and lanky boy. Underneath his hat strands of grainy hair leaked out. “Come on, Joz. Don’t be like that. This isn’t right. You gotta know that.”
Jozlyn’s eyes filled with fire as she stared at her cousin. “I haven’t got the time to stand here and tell you everything that isn’t right.” She looked over to Shan again. His head was down. He appeared deep in thought. Jozlyn knew better. He had not slept at all last night. She knew he was tearing apart inside. He felt he had let down all Bannar and Vallance, and there was no convincing him otherwise. “Ready, Shan? It’s time.”
Slowly, Shan Fellar looked up with tired, defeated eyes. He mustered up as much strength as he could and nodded. “Yes, let’s go.”
Jozlyn nodded to the fallen soldier. Leading Surewind, she headed toward Morganne’s entrance. Heat began to stir in the air. She knew it would be a long, difficult ride, but she still welcomed the journey. A cool wind reminded her that she and Shan could have some luck yet. She hoped that it would hold. Doyle stood in her way a final time. As annoyed as she was, she understood. In switched roles, she might have done the same. It was one last time to reconsider her options. It was Doyle’s last chance to persuade her. She knew he had to try.
Doyle Corzon scratched at his neck with long, bony fingers. “Joz, look. I mean, you can’t just walk away.”
“Yes, I can, Doyle.” Jozlyn lowered her head. She was not good with words. She never had been. Taking a breath, she wished she could ease her cousin’s mind. “Look, I’m sorry. I must go. I know that much at least. I’ll be fine. You take care of yourself, okay?”
Doyle Corzon looked on at her a moment, silent and wondering. His attention stirred over her shoulder for only a second. Jozlyn thought he was looking at Shan. When his head suddenly hung in shame, she knew the truth. Doyle had tried, very hard, in fact, but ultimately could not keep his promise. Without looking back, Jozlyn knew who approached with thundering steps. Without eyes, she could even see the flushed redness of anger in his face.
As far as Jozlyn was concerned, this was when the true storm began for her.
“Jozlyn!” The tremors her father’s voice caused still chilled her soul. “What the hell is the meaning of this? He was only ten feet away now, closing faster still. He was her father. He was her teacher. He was the leader of Morganne and the deadliest gun fighter in all Vallance. And now she could not stand to look at him.
Jozlyn stared daggers at Doyle, and in his shame, he turned away. She would not and could not look at her father. Jozlyn’s hand became a vice grip upon the reins. She dared not turn. Jozlyn was indeed afraid, but for once it was not of what he would
say but what she would say to him. “I mean to go, father. I think you know that.”
Vaalin Corzon stopped four feet from her. His hands dug into his hips above his guns. He left his coat inside and his dark clothes absorbed the sunlight. His breaths were heavy, as they always were when his temper flared. She no longer cared if she angered him though. “It doesn’t matter what you mean to do, young one.” He motioned a thumb over his shoulder at the wounded Shan. “Get this man back to his bed and put your things away. We will talk about this little incident when you are done.”
“No.”
Vaalin’s eyes widened at her response. “No? No?” There was a vibration of anger that Jozlyn felt through the air between them. “You don’t tell me no, child! You will respect my wishes and question me no more! Unpack your things and put those pistols away. You are still unworthy of wielding them.”
“No.” As she reiterated her stance, Jozlyn turned now to face her father. Her eyes were much like his in the moment of the draw; cool, intent, merciless. “I am leaving Morganne. I may not be worthy of these weapons, but I mean to wear them anyway. And I won’t be changing my mind, not now or ever again.”
They stared at each other for a measured moment. Doyle shifted on his feet in discomfort. He knew it best to say nothing. Doyle could only stand there, an anxious spectator in the unfolding drama. He had never seen anyone stand up to Vaalin Corzon in his life. Whenever he imagined this day, he never pictured it to be his daughter to do it. Doyle wrestled with the dryness in his throat as he watched on, unable to turn from the scene.
Vaalin clenched his jaw like a steel trap. The redness in his face had not abated. In fact, it was growing worse. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, even though he still seethed within. “Jozlyn, I will give you one more chance. Take a moment to realize just what you are doing and what the consequences will be.” He paused long enough to gauge her eyes and continued. “You intend to leave Morganne in exile. If you do that then you will be an outcast from this day forth. You have family here, friends, your whole life, in fact. Don’t be so gods damned foolish, child. Now take your things and go inside. We will discuss this later.”
Jozlyn did not hesitate. “No.” She turned away from Vaalin then. Her father, her mentor in the art of the pistol, meant nothing right now, and he knew it.
This proved too much for Vaalin. “What of all devils has gotten into you, child? You do not turn your back on me! Not now, not ever! You will listen to me, Jozlyn!” He reached and grabbed her shoulder, swinging her around mercilessly.
As Jozlyn was spun around, she knocked her father’s hand away with strength that had even surprised him. In her eyes was a fury that had slept dormant for a lifetime. And in it, he saw power to be reckoned with as it poured from her in waves. Vaalin had inadvertently called down thunder. “Don’t touch me.”
Vaalin’s temper flared further as he responded to her words. “Have you gone mad? Is that it? All I see here is an angry little girl with her tail between her legs. If you’ll not listen, then I will make you listen.” Vaalin reached for her arm. He held for but a second before she drew it away. In that instant, she did something that he had never expected to her do.
Jozlyn hauled back with her fist and struck her father in the face.
Vaalin, in pained surprise, stumbled back. The hit had been true and fierce, right across his jaw. It was then that rational thought left him completely. Fueled by anger, driven by instinct pounded into his head and hands for years, he drew. With unthinkable speed his hand went for his weapon. The pistol came from its holster, nothing but a glint as it sailed from its slumber to set its sights on his only daughter.
Even Doyle, trained for seasons in the art of the gun, could not keep up with the motion. He had never seen anyone draw so fast in his life. For a moment, he was mystified. Awe took hold suddenly as the weight of the split second gripped him fully. He had just seen technique at its perfection. No one could have matched that draw.
And yet, someone had.
Doyle would never have believed it, unless he witnessed it for himself. Only a fighter from Morganne or Axiter would have seen the difference. Everyone else would have been too slow to follow. But Doyle had seen it as plain as day. Everything that Vaalin had done with sheer perfection, Jozlyn had mimicked. And somehow, she had done it a split second faster.
Heaving furious breaths, Vaalin looked wide-eyed into the pistol barrel only inches from his nose. His fixed look ruptured with anger, his pride torn in two. Not only had his daughter beaten him, but she had evaded his attack. Her head was inches out of harm’s way where she stood as a coiled snake ready to strike.
Vaalin was awestruck. He might even have been proud had it not been for an all-consuming rage overtaking him. Vaalin found his trigger finger and lips both twitching as a lonesome vein protruded on his forehead. In her eyes, I see a mirror. I have called down the full fury of the fires. My daughter is a gunslinger.
The eyes of Jozlyn were cold steel. Her voice was soft, yet audible, and as she spoke her hand trembled evenly as seething ferocity charged through her veins. “And do you want to know what I see? I see a man who has lost himself for his guns and pride. I see unexpressed fear coming out as anger. And I now see a man who used to be my father.” Her hand pulsed with greater strength now and Vaalin did not move. “But no more. All I can truly see is the one who turned his back on Vallance and its people, turned his back on Alderich and his kin.” Tears were teaming in her eyes. “They’re dead, Vaalin. Dead! Don’t you see? With them is probably Vallance and for what, selfish pride? Did you need to be right so badly? What deal did you make? How much of your soul did you procure for such a bargain? You sacrificed our honor for what? Comfort? Saftey? Selfish gain? Everything I wanted to hope for, everything I wanted to see . . . ”
She lost her voice momentarily. Her hand faltered a split second. Vaalin knew his moment had come. He made a movement with his other hand. An inch was all that it took. The fire had returned in his daughter’s eyes. With casual speed her other gun was drawn covering the free hand he intended to use. Once again, lightning was in her veins, speeding her on to new levels of deadliness.
Jozlyn continued. “Gone. It’s all gone now. Maybe all of us with it, who knows? We could have done something and did not. We had a chance to turn the tides and save Bannar. You are guilty. Doyle is guilty. Morganne is guilty and so am I.” With sleek precision, she holstered her weapons without a thought. She took another step toward her father, eyes blazing back at him, unafraid, furious. “War came to us and you thought we should hide and abandon our honor. I cannot live with that, and I will not live with that.”
A crowd had formed by now, watching all of this in pure silence. No one dared move. Jozlyn looked at each with disgust and contempt. “We lost more than our capital today, even more than some of the greatest people on this Earth. We each lost a little piece of our souls. Dark days have befallen us. And it is all because capable men and women chose to do nothing.”
There were murmurings in the crowd, though Vaalin did not hear these things. He watched unmoving as his daughter walked out of Morganne and his life. He wanted to chase her. Pride kept him still. Pride and the knowledge that there was nothing that he could have said to change her mind. Slowly, he replaced his gun to his holster before turning on his heel back to his home. The crowd parted in his wake. Behind him, a lone gunslinger and a man without a home plodded down a cold, lonely road.
{48}
Despite the freshness of the day, the mourning in the air was palpable. Though the sky was vibrant and clear, any joy of such a moment was empty and meaningless. The ashes and whispers of death still trickled easily from the depths of Bannar, leaving sadness and grief to those close enough to see or hear its fate. Even the scant wilderness around what remained of the city walls paid a silent homage that cut into the hearts of those that once called this place home. On this day, there were many such people, all united in a single purpose and duty.
I
n their own ways and own times, every one of them had returned to bid farewell to Bannar and their loved ones forever gone.
Ultimately, thousands would come to pay their respects. Today, hundreds lined up in silence and grief. It was a day that marked an end and a turning point. Before the silent vigil were the remains of their once great capital, before that the remains of the once great family that led them to the future. It was today that both family and home, two weeks after their death, were finally laid to rest. It was the end of Bannar and the lineage of the Ashener bloodline.
“We are united today in this dark time to bid farewell to a light that has carried us on for many wonderful years.” Wyndall of the Jacoi spoke to the semicircle that surrounded him. Somehow, he managed to carry his voice without betraying the emotion that fiercely fought his control. Surrounding him were many of what remained of those he still called friends, yet still the void in his heart was great. “The Ashener family was the heart of Bannar, if not all of Vallance. Today we will venture from this once great home of hope and leave diminished, but we will live on, because the Ashener family showed us, through their lives, the strength to always endure.”
Wyndall of the Jacoi took a long, painful breath. He was bone weary, yet grateful that it was he who could lay his friends to rest. So much had been lost recently. Wyndall knew only more loss would follow. How many times in the last week had Wyndall replayed the scene, finding new ways to punish himself for not being able to see through the ruse and save his friends. But this kind of betrayal, this kind of treachery that was laid before them, he never would have expected it to stem from one of the Ashener clan. To the end of his days, he would wonder what sent Rhoneck to the darkness that allowed him to lead his family and home to ruin.
However, that was a subject for a later date.
Wyndall looked now at those assembled. Always by his side was Kascha of the Dryganus. An entourage of his clansmen flanked him and surrounded the erected pyre before him. Just beyond that were many of those closest to the Ashener family, along with the combined leaders of the Vallance regions, save for Rybert Toller and Vaalin Corzon. Blanketing those were hundreds of refugees, soldiers, and natives of Vallance.
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