The Outlanders

by Erin Rhew

  “I’ll miss your biting wit.” Samson pulled her into a strangling hug.

  “Well, I won’t miss your annoying backtalk.”

  Despite her brave words, tears welled up in her eyes. She’d only just gotten Samson back in her life. The blood pumped through her heart at a dizzying rate, and she fought the urge to crush him to her until they melded into one being, never to be separated again.

  “See you soon.” He gripped the back of her head in a last embrace.

  She wondered if he too worried they might never see one another again. Since birth, they’d been inseparable, so she couldn’t fathom such a permanent split. Layla shook her head, determined to rid her mind of such morbid and morose thoughts. Nash and Samson would come back, both of them, safe and sound.

  “Be careful.”

  He stepped back and turned to walk toward his horse, calling a reply over his shoulder with flash of his white teeth, “Always.”

  She turned back to Nash, who had stepped away when his family came out to say goodbye. He wore a brave face, but she recognized his sadness in the way his skin creased around the eyes. Nash reached out and cupped the side of her face.

  “At least I get to say goodbye to you this time.” She remembered the last time he’d left, running from the bounty King Jesper had placed on his head. He’d slipped out under the cover of darkness, leaving with a myriad of unspoken words between them.

  Nash opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and opened it again. “Layla, I lo…” He shook his head and leapt upon the horse without another word. He swallowed hard as his gaze caught and held hers for one more heartbeat before he spurred the animal forward.

  As Nash and Samson headed out, Layla fought the urge to call them back. She wanted to scream how much she needed them, to confess how much the idea of losing them created a hole in her heart so deep she thought it might swallow her, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she glanced up at the sky. Gray clouds obscured the sun. An unwelcome sense of foreboding engulfed her.

  * * * *

  Layla collapsed into the chair, preparing to take her nightly vigil over Wil. She’d forced herself to eat a little bit of dinner, but her appetite had ridden off with the two men. Was Nash thinking of her too? Was he scared? Probably not, knowing him. He’d inherited fearlessness from his father. As a Vanguard, she too should suppress her fears and allow her natural rage to fuel her. But she couldn’t. At this moment, fear won out.

  Scared…she felt scared in a way she never had. Scared Nash and Samson would be captured or killed. That Wil would forever be lost in his dream world. And Vance would attack. Scared of the Outlander’s plans. That Vespa would remain in her childlike state forever. Scared she couldn’t bring about peace—and the First Ones hadn’t chosen her to do it after all. Just plain scared. Determined to outwit her fears, she grabbed hold of Wil’s hand, grasping for the peace he always infused into her spirit. She had a kingdom to run and no time to give in to panic.

  “Come back to us.” She whispered the same request she’d made every night for the past week. Layla stroked his forehead, hoping for a reaction, but received none.

  She wanted to sleep, yet her brain raced so hard rest proved impossible. To busy herself, Layla picked up a rag on the table beside Wil’s bed. She dipped it in the adjacent water bowl and began wiping his face. She knew Sansolena and Volton Mars came in daily to take care of Wil, but Layla needed to do something, needed to feel like she somehow contributed to his recovery.

  “So your brother rode out to the Outlands this afternoon. I understand his reasons, but it makes me nervous. We know so little about them and what we do know isn’t good. I’m worried he’s riding into a trap.” She sighed. “I wish you would wake up. You always know what to do, and I could really use your advice right now.”

  A knock at the door, though soft, startled her. Everyone knew she slept at Wil’s bedside at night, but no one ever sought her out here.

  “Who is it?”

  “Mia.”

  Layla’s heart jumped into her throat. Mia? What was she doing outside Wil’s door? Hadn’t Nash ordered her locked down?

  “Come in.” Layla banished the uncertainty from her voice, willing it to sound strong and regal as she’d seen Sansolena do so many times.

  Mia entered the room, two Ethereal guards close on her heels. Layla had never seen Ethereals so built, so Vanguard-like in their stature. Even with their size, if Mia did possess Vanguard strength, she still would have been able to dispatch them with ease. Layla wondered why the girl allowed herself to remain captive without attempting an escape. Foreboding, similar to what she’d sensed watching Nash and Samson ride out, assaulted her.

  “Why did you bring her to the king’s room?” Layla swung her head back and forth between the guards, her mouth set in a thin, angry line.

  One guard shifted from one foot to the other. “Queen Sansolena granted permission when the prisoner asked.”

  The queen? Layla frowned. Why would Sansolena agreed to such a strange request?

  “May I sit?” Mia gestured to Nash’s now vacant chair on the other side of Wil.

  Though Layla would have preferred to leave Nash’s seat empty until he returned, she nodded her consent. Mia shuffled over, the chains on her ankles affecting her ability to walk. She sat down, arranging herself in the chair like a dinner guest. Such odd behavior…Layla fought the urge to snap the girl’s neck, reminding herself the dead couldn’t reveal pertinent information. She narrowed her eyes.

  “Why are you here?”

  To Layla’s surprise, the girl laughed. “It’s a fair question. Since I’m here late at night in the room of your wounded king, I would expect you to be wary of me, but as you can see,” She held up her bound wrists, “I am no threat.”

  “I’ll make sure you’re no threat. If you so much as breathe on Wil, I’ll rip your heart right out of your chest. I can do it too; so don’t try me.” Layla sent the prisoner her most menacing glare. “So, again, why are you here?”

  Mia settled back in Nash’s chair, her posture still relaxed. Layla clasped her hands in her lap, fighting her Vanguard urge to reach across the bed and knock the easy grin off the girl’s face. “I wanted to officially meet you. Grant, Nash, Volton Mars, Queen Sansolena, and King Rex have all come to visit me, but not you. I know deep down you must be as curious about me as I am about you.”

  Layla was curious, but kingdom business, Wil’s recovery, and Nash’s departure took priority. She stared at the young woman. Their resemblance—so alike with their black hair, purple eyes, and small frames—brought her more discomfort than she cared to admit. However, Mia appeared frail while Layla possessed a stronger, more traditional Vanguard physique. She may have used her daintiness to sway Samson, but Layla guessed Mia appeared weak on purpose. Inside those violet eyes, Layla saw intelligence and cunning.

  “Tell me about yourself.”

  “What do you want to know?” The girl’s gaze shifted up and to the right.

  Layla squeezed her hands together, hard enough to make her fingers tingle. So Mia wanted to play coy? Nash had been right to suspect this girl.

  “You’re part Outlander?”

  “Yes, and you’re Vanguard?”

  “Yes. Tell me about the Outlands. I’ve never been.”

  “Since I saw very little before I met your brother, there isn’t much to tell.”

  Layla ground her teeth, sending a tight knot of tension to the top of her head. Mia had come to play games, and Layla had neither the time nor inclination to put up with it.

  “It’s late. I think you should leave.”

  Mia started to stand but hesitated. She crouched in a half-sitting posture. In response, Layla moved into the same position, ready to thwart any plans the pretender might have. They stared at one another for a tense moment before returning to their seats.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be difficult, honestly I don’t. There are things you don’t know, that I can’t tell you, but plea
se believe me when I say I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” The girl sniffled, a pathetic, pitiful sound. And for a brief moment, her façade dropped.

  Layla heard pain behind the other girl’s words. She tried to dismiss the confession as more elements of this game, but another part of her recognized the truth. Mia’s slumped shoulders and impending tears spoke a plea her mouth could not. But what was she trying to say? And why had she chosen such an ambiguous method?

  “Tell me something truthful, something genuinely informative. Stop playing games.”

  “People depend on me. I can’t let them down.” Mia dropped her head. Tears streamed down her face, dripping in a steady flow against her imprisoned hands.

  “Who depends on you? I thought Samson said you didn’t have a family.”

  “I’m sorry.” Mia jumped up. On instinct, Layla bounded upright. Her muscles strained, ready to fight if necessary.

  “Who depends on you?” Layla kept her arms rigid by her side to prevent them from shooting out to grab the girl.

  Without another word, Mia walked out of the room, tripping over her bound ankles in her haste.

  Chapter Nine

  Nash

  As the sun rose over the trees, Nash stuffed his supplies into his saddlebag, anxious to get moving. The closer they got to the Outlands, the more certain he felt about his decision to come here. Ethereals and Vanguards knew nothing about this neighbor to the south, but Nash meant to change that. He’d tried to talk to Samson about a plan should they meet resistance or hostility, but Samson refused to even consider the possibility. He said his adventure to the Outlands had been a pleasant experience, though Nash knew the Vanguard had only ventured along the outskirts. Samson allowed his attraction to Mia to cloud his judgment. Could Nash really blame him though? Didn’t his own feelings for Layla often impede his decision making?

  “Are we leaving, or are you going to stand there and stare at your horse all morning?” Samson’s quip ripped Nash from his thoughts.

  “I’m ready.” Nash glared at the Vanguard.

  Layla’s brother, while a capable navigator, annoyed him much more often than he helped. Nash checked his saddle, secured his saddlebag, and swung up into the seat. Without bothering to wait for Samson, he rode forward.

  “So, you took that joke personally, huh?” Samson’s horse fell in step.

  Nash cast him a weary glance. “I’m just eager to discover what we came all this way to find.”

  “Uh-huh.” A teasing grin played at Samson’s lips.

  Nash took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. He wanted to jerk the Vanguard out of the saddle by his neck but resisted. “Are you always like this?”

  “Pretty much.” Samson laughed. “So, you and Layla, huh?”

  Layla, just the mention of her name pierced him. He felt guilty leaving her to watch over Wil and the kingdom alone. While he believed in his mission and in the threat posed by the Outlanders, he still missed her.

  Everywhere he went and in everything he did, he thought of her. The purplish hue of dusk matched her eyes. His breakfast, a piece of bread and apple, made him recall their brief time alone in the woods. Even her irritating brother provided a constant reminder of his separation from her.

  “I guess.” Nash shrugged, keeping his demeanor casual, determined not to give Samson any fodder.

  “She seemed pretty into your brother too.”

  Just as Nash’s hands, of their own volition, started toward Samson’s neck, a faint sound, like the snapping of a twig, caught his attention. How he managed to hear it at all over the sound of Samson’s chatter and the clomping of their horses perplexed him. He stilled his steed.

  “Shhhh.” He held up a finger to silence Samson.

  “Hey, I get it. I would be pretty mad if the girl I loved had a thing for my brother too. You know, I think—”

  “Shhh,” Nash said louder, holding up a hand and shaking it. “I heard something.”

  Samson pulled his horse to a stop. He leaned forward, cupping his ear. Under normal circumstances, Nash would have laughed at the Vanguard’s ridiculousness. Another twig snapped. Nash whirled his head to the left, toward the source of the sound. Two young women stepped out of the forest, their eyes wide.

  “We didn’t mean to startle you.” A girl in a light blue dress held up her hands in a sign of peace. “We heard your horses approaching and came to investigate.” Her gaze swung back and forth between them. “You aren’t from here, are you?”

  Nash absorbed as much information as possible, trying to determine their threat level. The one in the blue dress had a long, red braid that lay in a rope down her shoulder, and inquisitive gray eyes—an unusual color he’d never before encountered. The other, in a green dress, had light brown hair and blue eyes similar in color to Wil’s. Their uncommon coloring suggested they came from the Outlands. He stiffened, his hand moving toward his sword on instinct.

  “No, I’m from Vanguard. He’s an Ethereal.” Samson hung over the side of his horse, a stupid grin on his face.

  Nash rounded on him, his voice a low growl. “Shut up.” They didn’t know these girls, didn’t know if they could be trusted, yet Samson prattled away like he’d just encountered long lost friends.

  “I’m Samson. This is Nash,” the Vanguard continued as if Nash hadn’t even spoken.

  “Enough!”

  Nash’s outburst silenced the whole woods, nothing moved. He blew out a frustrated breath and wondered for the thousandth time why he’d agreed to bring Samson along. Layla’s brother either believed his strength made him invincible, or he considered himself charming. Neither served their purposes and both kept them at a disadvantage. Now these girls knew their places of origin and their names. Valuable information.

  “I’m Nazeen.” The redhead gestured to herself, curtsied in a sign of deference, and tipped her head toward to the other girl. “And this is Winnow.” Somehow, the exchange of information did not make Nash feel any better.

  A thunderous pounding crashed around in the woods. The girls screamed, true terror in their voices.

  “What is that?” Samson placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “Wild boar!” Naveen grabbed Winnow’s hand, pulling her friend toward the boys, away from the woods.

  Samson laughed. “A wild boar? And you’re running?”

  He slid down off his horse and drew his sword. Against his better judgment, Nash followed suit. The boar squealed as it burst out of the woods, but Samson just laughed like the pig had told some great joke. It barreled toward them, tusks pointed, ready to drive straight through them.

  With their superior reflexes, Samson and Nash jumped aside just before the boar struck. Each drove his sword up into the pig’s fragile underside. The animal let out a part angry, part wounded cry as it collapsed in the dirt.

  Nash bent down to inspect the animal. He listened as the boar released a final breath and died. Reaching out, he placed a hand on its side, whispering a prayer to release it back to the First Ones in the Great Beyond. Samson bent down beside him. Though Nash couldn’t see him, he felt the Vanguard’s gaze. He opened his eyes to find mirth dancing around Samson’s mouth.

  “A true believer, eh?”

  Nash dismissed the jab. The girls moved out from their hiding places, circling the boys and the dead animal.

  Nazeen pressed her hands to the sides of her flushed face. “You actually killed it.”

  “We’ve never seen anything like that before.” Winnow placed a hand upon Samson’s shoulder.

  He grinned. “Who’s hungry?”

  Nash ignored the other three and noted with unease how their swords rested inside the boar. Needing the security of a weapon in his hand, he reached out to withdraw his. A sharp pinch stabbed his neck. He grabbed a wrist, yanking the hand away…too late. To his right, Samson groaned. Nash’s green eyes met triumphant gray ones as he slid into darkness.

  * * * *

  Nash’s eyes flew open. Pain, sharp and piercing, st
abbed up the left side of his neck all the way to the top of his head. On instinct, he reached up to touch the source but found his hands shackled. He yanked hard against the chains, rattling them, but they did not budge. Bewildered, he tried again, each jerk of his body sending fresh waves of agony up his neck and head.

  “Don’t bother trying.” A dull voice reached for him in the darkness. Samson.

  Samson…the scene in the woods came rushing back. The girls. The boar. The needle. Those triumphant gray eyes. He remembered it all now. Angry, he tugged against the arm restraints again.

  “What part of ‘don’t bother trying’ did I fail to make clear?”

  “For the love of the First Ones, would you just be quiet?”

  “I’ve been awake longer than you have, and I’ve already tried to break all the chains.”

  All the chains? Nash performed a mental check and noted a set of chains around each wrist and another large chain encircling his neck. He lurched forward, only to be halted mid-stride and thrown backward.

  Samson’s soft chuckle intermingled with the echo of metal hitting the floor and wall. Nash’s ire rose.

  “You think this is funny?” The growl in his voice overtook all other sounds in the room.

  “Not at all, actually. I already tried everything you’re trying. I know right now probably isn’t the time to mention it, but I am full Vanguard while you’re only a Halfling. If anyone could break out, it would be me, not you. I’ve tried, and I can’t. There’s something different about these chains. Almost like they were made for holding Vanguards.”

  Nash tried to think through his blinding rage, to hear and digest Samson’s words. “First of all, don’t say the word Halfling again. We must assume we’re being monitored all the time. Second, you make a good point.”

  “I do?”

  “About the chains being made for Vanguards, yes. But why? The Outlanders are supposed to be neutral, yet they have a cell set up just for Vanguards.”