Wasteland Treasure

by Eve Langlais

  Water she spat out as he said, “Did you know that only psionics attuned to the healing arts are allowed to work in the Enclave city pharmacies?”

  She choked while he sat there looking quite composed. “I am not psionic.”

  “Not true. You are not an Enclave member, but you are most definitely a psion. Like me. Like so many others.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Possible?” he said, interrupting. “Oh, but it is. I and my others are living proof. Which is why the Enclave is going to have to recognize me and accept that I’m king.”

  “They’ll never make you Enclave,” she blurted out.

  “I don’t really care if they do, but they will respect my kingdom and my authority.”

  “Or else what?” she said.

  “In ancient times, we would have gone to war.”

  She gaped at him. “Are you insane?”

  “Not yet.” He stood and paced her room, the size of it impressive until a large man entered.

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  Rather than answer her question, he went off on a different tangent. “Do you have family, Sofia?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. The only thing close would have been my master.” Whom she’d not even seen in her final days as he’d been gone on business. She’d been making her own meals when everything happened.

  Roark’s lip curled. “A master is not family. He’s the man who bought you to serve his business.”

  “Bought?” She shook her head. “We are chosen.”

  “Bought,” he firmly insisted. “With the price depending on your skill level.”

  “How would you know?” she exclaimed. “You’re not even Enclave.”

  “Because some of us actually take the time to find out more about our neighbors. Your Ruby city for example. It’s a bit looser on the morals than other Enclave-controlled places. They don’t forbid sex, but they do feed parts of the populace contraceptives. Can’t have the wrong sorts making babies.”

  She couldn’t argue because the former was true, and the latter she’d suspected. “I was taken care of.” The only rebuttal she had.

  “Of course, you were, because you had value. Did everyone you know get the same care?”

  She pressed her lips rather than reply. He knew the answer and was trying to make her say it.

  “The Ruby queen and her predecessors have been lying to its citizens for a long time, now. Did you know there’s a second city only an hour away that has no dome and is a veritable paradise? The Queen’s Summer Palace is what they call it.”

  “You lie.”

  He shrugged. “Believe me or not. That is your choice.”

  “Why do you care what I believe or not? Do you think telling me something I know will help you somehow?”

  “I’m trying to convince you to try something different.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I am inviting you to live here. As the king’s witch.”

  “I don’t have any psionic abilities,” she muttered, realizing even as she said it how stubborn she sounded.

  “Jakori is telling the truth of what he saw. I could use a healer of that caliber. Spend the night thinking before you answer.” Roark moved past her, and the table still laden with dishes, to the door. “You could do worse than live here under my rule.”

  “I won’t agree to anything without Gunner.”

  “Unfortunately, he’s needed somewhere else.”

  “Then no deal.”

  The king paused at the door. “I would strongly advise you rethink that position.”

  The king could threaten all he liked. Her decision wouldn’t change.

  Sixteen

  There were a few things that made a man feel inadequate. One of them was getting into an epic battle with a swamp wizard, only to then be captured and sold.

  He’d not even gotten to fight his way out. He’d spent most of his captivity drugged. At one point, partway through their trip, he’d woken tied to the lumbering back of some animal that reeked. He’d been unable to discern if Sofia was anywhere near him. Had she even survived their encounter in the swamp?

  He didn’t understand how he’d survived. He clearly recalled dying, bleeding, the pain, and then the blessed darkness.

  Sofia must have saved him, which surely meant she lived. But they’d been captured. By whom? Turning his head side to side, he tried to discern how to escape.

  Someone noticed and bellowed, “The foreigner is awake.”

  “Dart him.”

  Someone stuck him with a pointy object laced with drugs. Gunner fell asleep and woke inside a stone block cell. The door was a set of floor-to-ceiling bars set deep into the structure he’d wager.

  Shaking his head, he approached the bars, feeling his body fighting off the effects of the drug. He needed to wake up and figure shit out and soon. Being in a cell didn’t bode well. And he was not happy that he didn’t know what had happened to Sofia.

  “Sofia!” He shouted her name in case she answered.

  Jeers met his cry. Kissing noises, too.

  The bars jolted him the moment his fingers came in contact with the metal. He snatched them free yelping, “Fuck me!”

  “Don’t touch the bars,” said a gravelly voice.

  “That bit of information might have been more useful earlier,” he snapped, shaking the tips of his fingers.

  “It’s not a lesson you soon forget.”

  The voice seemed familiar, and Gunner approached the bars once more, remaining just far enough away to avoid electrocution. He peered across from him, trying to discern details despite the current dimness in the place. “Titan, is that you?”

  “Depends who’s asking.”

  “As if you don’t know. Where you been? We’ve been wondering where you got to.” Gunner could barely see the other man. Titan appeared tucked in the corner of his cell, the light overhead not functioning.

  “Here and there.”

  “We were worried about you.”

  “I left a message.”

  “Saying ‘gone, see you soon’ isn’t exactly self-explanatory.”

  “I went looking for something.”

  “And found it in a cell?” Gunner said lightly.

  Titan snorted. “Apparently I’m good at getting captured, given this is my second time in as many months.”

  “How did you get arrested?” Gunner queried. “What happened to you?”

  “I might have taken a wrong turn and gotten here.”

  “Where is here?” Gunner glanced at the stone wall, old and pitted, but the bars appeared more recent. “Last I recall I was in the marshes, fighting.”

  “You are still in the marshes. In the want-to-be kingdom of Roark the First.”

  “Who? You’re gonna have to give me a bit more info.”

  “Roark, the king of the Marshlands, self-proclaimed, I should add. He’s a nobody. Came out of nowhere, barely educated, unmarked, but powerful, apparently. Somehow, he convinced the marsh clans to stop fighting each other and the Enclave and band together.”

  “Hold on,” Gunner interjected. “You mean we’re not dealing with an Enclave member?”

  “Nope. Roark and the united Marsh clans rebuilt this old city. Rumor says he wants the Marshes to be recognized by the Enclave and declared a sovereign nation so they can build some trade channels.”

  “What does that have to do with us?”

  “Nothing,” Titan replied. “We’re simply for entertainment. The Marsh king employs the use of tournaments as part of his justice system. Meaning fighting matches with lots of blood.”

  “So we’re under arrest?” he asked. “But I haven’t done anything.”

  “It doesn’t take much to be arrested. Turns out Roark is a good ruler, because there aren’t enough criminals anymore to please the crowd. So they started conscripting trespassers.”

  “I wasn’t drafted into this fight club. Someone sold me,” Gunner remarked.

  “Bec
ause they found you trespassing. Perfectly legal according to Marsh law.”

  “That is severely fucked up.”

  “I don’t know. It’s brutally efficient from what I’ve seen.” Titan appeared to admire it.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Too long,” Titan grumbled in reply.

  “I wish we’d have known you were a prisoner. We thought you’d left and needed time to deal with the accident.” Titan might have returned sporting a metal arm and leg, but his mind and emotions remained scarred. “We would have come to rescue you.”

  “I don’t need rescuing.” Titan shifted, as if agitated. “But I have needed time to come to grips with the fact I’m not dead.”

  “Does that mean you’ll come back with me to Haven?”

  Titan snorted. “Still trying to be funny I see.”

  “I’m serious. We are not staying here.”

  “Maybe you don’t want to stay, but I gotta say, this place ain’t half bad.”

  “It’s a prison.”

  “It’s easy,” Titan said softly.

  Meaning what? “Have you tried to escape?”

  A low chuckle floated from the cell across from him. “Why would I? I have everything I need here.” The words were flat.

  Did Titan speak truly or because he knew someone listened?

  He might have chatted with Titan some more, but there was a commotion. Boots stomped in cadence and were met by the catcalling of prisoners. But the sound abruptly halted. The reason came into view a moment after the soldiers split to either side of his cell.

  A man dressed in black, a few decades old, but no silver yet in his dark hair. They stared at each other a moment.

  It was a soldier who broke the silence first. “Kneel for the king.”

  King? This must be the famous Roark he’d heard of. The man who’d bought him. Who might know where the fuck Sofia was.

  “My knees are kind of sore. I think I’ll stand.” He leaned against the wall.

  Kneel.

  The command didn’t come from any lips, and yet he slammed to the floor anyhow.

  “That’s better.” The king smiled. “Must get these things out of the way if you and I are going to have a chat.” He waved at his guards. “Move along. I can handle our guest.”

  The tromping of boots moved away, and the silence between Gunner and Roark lengthened.

  They’d never met, and yet, given the arrogance oozing in front of him, if he’d not talked to Titan, he would still have guessed the man was someone important, an Enclave-level dick for sure.

  The nostrils of the king flared. “I have to admit I’m less than impressed. She keeps asking about you, and I really don’t see why.” The man eyed him, but Gunner reacted at the words.

  “What have you done with Sofia?” Gunner reached for the bars, too late remembering the electrical charge. He gasped and shook his hurting hands again while Roark shook his head.

  “You and Sofia, both lacking manners. You will address me as ‘Your Highness.’”

  Gunner would have preferred the term ‘pompous prick,’ but he knew to play the game for now. “Where is Sofia, Your Highness?” he muttered through gritted teeth.

  “Enjoying my hospitality. She’s quite the looker. Powerful, too, according to the blood work we’ve completed. She’ll make good breeding stock.”

  Gunner growled and fought the temptation to reach through the bars. He wanted nothing more than to throttle the man who stood within reach, a cool smile on his lips.

  “Don’t you touch her.”

  “Or what? What exactly will you do? You’re in a cell.”

  The observation cooled him. “What do you want with me? Why are you here?” Because Roark wanted to speak to him alone. Well alone except for Titan, who had to be listening.

  “Tell about the place you come from. Emerald demesne, correct?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a Marshlander. One of your subjects as a matter of fact. Which means I demand you respect my rights,” Gunner said with a grin.

  “You are not a Marshlander. You belong to a group of people led by a man who talks to animals.”

  Gunner pressed his lips tight. How did this king know so much?

  Roark remained undaunted, and uncanny. “I know these things because it is my business to investigate matters that might affect my kingdom.”

  “I’m no threat to your kingdom.”

  “Never said you were.” The king smirked. “You’re what I call an information source. There is a treasure trove available. Your mind is wide open.”

  The very idea his mind was being rifled without him knowing chilled. “Leave my head alone.”

  “Don’t blame me if you’re going to broadcast everything you feel and know.”

  “I’m not doing it on purpose, trust me,” Gunner managed through gritted teeth.

  “Tell me about Emerald.” Roark pinned him with a gaze.

  The urge to spill everything he’d ever experienced in his life had him biting his tongue. He closed his eyes hard and tried to not see the land he knew but didn’t always love. The Wasteland with its cracks and sparse pockets of habitation.

  “Not a very nice place. No wonder they’re always trading for more and more food. A good thing the mine hasn’t dried up,” the king muttered.

  Gunner couldn’t make any sense of it. Gunner tried to focus on something other than thoughts about his home. “Is it true you’re going to make me fight?”

  “I hear you’re quite good at it.”

  A man had his pride, and Gunner’s swelled at the praise. “Maybe. Does it make a difference?”

  “It does if you win.”

  “What does a winner receive?”

  “That depends. Win big enough and I will grant a boon.”

  “Anything I want?” Gunner asked.

  “If it’s in my power.”

  “What if I asked for my freedom?”

  The king canted his head. “The most obvious choice, of course. And you could demand it. I would recommend, though, that a warrior of your skill, who is perhaps in need of employment, request to serve in my guard.”

  “Why the fuck would I want to work for you?”

  “Because I pay very well,” Roark explained. “Given it is also considered an honor, I’ve had many former arena winners ask for it as their boon.”

  “Titan didn’t.”

  “Titan enjoys self-flagellation,” the king said dryly.

  “Bite me,” was the grumbled reply from the other cell.

  “I am not here to negotiate with Titan but the one called Gunner. Second-in-command of the Wasteland group known as Haven. Renowned for his skill with guns and knives. I hear you took out an infected bog magus.”

  “You mean the guy inside the muddy puddle?”

  The king’s lips twitched. “Yes. It is an unfortunate ailment that hits some of those born with a strong affinity to it. The wild overtakes the man.”

  “That wild tried to take Sofia from me. It didn’t end well.”

  “She means something to you, this woman?” Roark bluntly asked.

  It occurred to him to lie, but he couldn’t. “Sofia isn’t to be harmed. If I win in this fight you want me to have, then she walks free with me.”

  “You and the witch? That would require two boons. Alas you can have only one, and it must involve you. Sofia has her own task to accomplish.”

  The words didn’t reassure. “What do you want in exchange for her? You need information? I’ll tell you about Emerald. Not that there’s much to say. A rather sizeable portion of it is barren, with the majority of its people living in domes ruled by the Enclave, overseen by a queen.”

  “Which is common knowledge. I want to know more about you and Haven, a tiny group of non-citizens managing to live free and evade the rule of the Emerald queen.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He played dumb. He couldn’t have said why.

  Titan snorted. “
He already knows all about us. He reads minds.”

  “I do,” Roark affirmed. “Some of them more boring than others.”

  “Stay out of my head.” Gunner scowled.

  “I will if you tell me what I want to know,” the king pointed out slyly. “I hear Emerald lost a dome to rebels recently.”

  “You don’t say. That would be pretty brazen.” He neither admitted or denied.

  The king smiled as if he knew. “It would be, but then again, Emerald has been struggling for a while. Rumors are they’re having problems thriving. Citizens are disappearing, the Incubaii tanks keep failing, and given their laws banning actual natural procreation, they are in a spiral that will lead to extinction without change.”

  The stark prediction had Gunner shaking his head. “You’re lying.”

  “Am I? You have seen their corruption. Have yearned to put a stop to it.”

  A familiar frustration welled within. “So what if I have? What am I supposed to do? I’m just one man.”

  Roark’s expression turned cold. Icy cold. “I am also one man, and I started in a hovel. Born in mud, living in mud. Eating mud when my parents were killed. Now I’m king.”

  No mention of what happened in between, but Gunner couldn’t help a grudging admiration. “Does a self-proclaimed king count, though?” he mused aloud, being an intentional shit.

  Roark didn’t grab the bait. “Tell me about Haven.”

  “I don’t know a Haven.”

  “You really shouldn’t lie to someone with empathic psionic ability.”

  A what of the what? “I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re a mind wizard. I am not ratting out my home.”

  “The Emerald City does not consider you a citizen.”

  “I wasn’t talking about them. Stay out of my head.” He closed his eyes and tried to think of anything but Haven.

  It had the opposite effect. Images of the bunker they’d lost flashed in his head. A few years of stability and a place that was thriving and growing, lost in an Enclave attack. He tried to focus on something else, anything else, like…Sofia.

  She appeared in his mind and in ways he hoped that mind wizard couldn’t see, her lips parted and full, her cheeks flushed, his name spoken in a soft throaty whisper. Once he started, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. It amazed him she seemed to like him, too. Dare he say maybe even love? She’d saved his life.