Grey-Eyed Justice - Book One: Worlds Apart

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Chapter 2 - Hunting Ground

Over the jagged peaks of the Iron Mountains the West Wind flew until it dropped into the hidden valleys below, still lush from winter’s runoff and greedy for spring’s untold promises. Onwards it travelled gaining speed and ferocity as it skimmed the banks of the great Beritham River— whistling its tuneless song as the waves danced mindlessly into shore’s mud and ship’s hull alike. Undaunted, still forwards it traveled, sweeping across the flat plains of Derm, stretching its callous fingers in a vain attempt to erode the already thirsty plains until dirt and sand alike were born upwards with the wind’s mindless ebb and flow.

The wind was a curse some said, but the people of the Dermith plains were a hardy people. None but the strongest of will, or those with nothing else to lose made their home purposefully on the sparse plains. Though it was technically still a part of the Thiian Empire, it paid no taxes and spoke no oaths to any Emperor alive or dead.

Plants not dug into ditches where water could flow would simply wither and be swept up into the blinding wind, already filled with the dust that coated everything in a sickly red-orange.

The town of Jenkin’s Crossing was the only town left on the plains, a place for fools and felons it was said. The decent hardworking folk had long since abandoned it in the years following the great drought. It was a place frequented by those in society looking for a place to hide, away from prying eyes and awkward questions. So when twenty weary looking travelers, their cloaks shimmering with a combination of sweat and dust rode into the outskirts of town, none but the most curious gave them but a glance. Anonymous travelers were a common sight in the town, although a large group of them was a rather unusual event. Still, those that took one look didn’t stop to take another, from past experience the people knew never to meddle in the business of others. Those that did had a nasty habit of disappearing, never to be seen again. Thus, the town had a sort of unwritten code. It was a good way to stay alive.

From atop his dust covered dapple stallion, Jaden grimaced at the bitter taste in his mouth. The foul dust riddled the air, it hung as a massless cloud over the plains, blanketing everything. Without the mask that covered his mouth and nose he would be undoubtedly coughing as much as some of the locals. His party had been travelling for several weeks, following a trail that had led them too and fro across the plains before finally leading them into this godforsaken shit-hole of a town. If it could really be called a town at that--Jaden still hadn’t made up his mind. In his eyes it was simply a gathering of tents and shacks all hastily thrown together by the same bleary eyed artist who decided that everything in this bloody town was going to be red.

His eyes, squinting from the sun’s glare, flicked from the shabby and tattered sea of tents before them to the scantily clad speckled roofs of tiled huts beyond. His snort made the dust coating his faceguard and hood dance and slide off his head. There was only one word to describe a place such as this.

“Pathetic,” he growled aloud, regretting it the moment the word passed from his mouth. Somehow the dust managed to sneak into his hood no matter how tightly it was tied. Worse, once into his mouth it turned into mud and in order to spit he would be forced to take off the face-guard, and there lay the problem. As soon as it gets taken off even more dust would get inside his hood. And mud does taste horrible indeed, but Jaden was rather attached to being able to breathe without breaking into a wracking fit of coughs.

The man beside him sat in an identical cloak atop what used to be a black gelding, turned and grunted in agreement. “Brings new meaning to the word slum I think,” the man’s bear-like voice rumbled down the wide street, making several of the more skittish locals jump. Jaden had long ago discovered that was his sergeant’s best attempt at whispering. The huge man looked absurd atop a horse, his huge bulk made it seem as though he rode some sort of pony, much less a fully trained warhorse. Of course, no one would ever say that aloud. Jaden pitied anyone who ever got on Sergeant Bernweld’s bad side. He had heard the man once chew out a rather young soldier who had forgotten to polish his boots before an inspection. The poor man had been blubbering before Jaden had intervened on his behalf.

Bern was at the moment trying to look everywhere at once, keeping at least one eye on every dark alleyway and passer-by.

The gentle thumping of hard metal on earth caught Jaden’s attention; a third man on a horse had joined them. Jaden was forced to turn his entire head to see the newcomer as he spoke. “If this is indeed where he came, we’re more than likely find him dead than still breathin’.” The newcomer said airily, his eyes narrowed impossibly thin. “Seedy lot.”

Jaden turned back just in time to catch Sergeant Bernweld’s huge dark eyes rolling towards the sky, barely visible beneath his deep black hood and above his red dust-guard. But before the man could chew out the junior officer, Jaden decided to intervene.

“I doubt our quarry would fall to the likes of any of these rats.” He scowled at several of the men he was referring to, their backs hunched and eyes down-turned; they walked as if the party of twenty or so horsemen didn’t even exist in the middle of the quiet street. They certainly knew how to mind their own business at that.

Jaden couldn’t tell if Fernald ever thought before he spoke, or whether his thinly veiled sarcasm ever broke through the man’s thick skull. Regardless, his answer sounded neither hurt nor embarrassed, simply his usual witless self. “Your orders, Sir?”

Jaden suppressed a wince. He hated when the man called him Sir. Fernald has been the only man in his squad to call him sir and it drove him to distraction. Ever since the fool man had started it, it had caught on like wildfire with the other men again. It had taken him almost a year to stamp it out of Bernweld. But then again, the man had probably stopped more out of pity than from the request. Jaden supposed he was the youngest man to have ever been commissioned as an officer at the age of seventeen. He felt it ridiculous to have men nearly twice his age call him Sir. It had always had a mocking lilt to it.

Bernweld had been waiting for his junior to ask another question and he pounced his voice roaring. “I’ll bloody give you orders you little-“

Jaden coughed once interrupting what had begun to sound like one of the sergeant’s famous tirades. Bernweld’s shout had emptied the street rather abruptly as passer-bys suddenly discovered they had urgent business elsewhere.

Jaden glared for a moment at each of them, Bernweld knuckled his forehead while Fernald simply stared back, perhaps unaware that his stupidity caused so many problems. Jaden felt like rolling his eyes himself.

“Spread the men into pairs. I think it will be better if we don’t travel as a large group; the locals are skittish enough as it is. Get your men in position around the streets here. Hopefully we can drive our quarry eastwards and out of the city with our mere presence. If we still don’t pick up his trail by the time we meet by those buildings there,” he motioned his gloved hand to point off into the distance at the solitary two-storied building in the entire town, “We’ll re-group and try to pick up some gossip at the local establishments or if all else fails, harp on some of the locals.”

“An excellent plan Sir.” Fernald voice sounded slightly breathless, probably in awe that someone had strung so many words together at once. Bernweld however, was another story. His stony silence could have meant anything as he fiddled with the reigns of his horse.

“You don’t approve?”

Jaden had the distinct impression that behind that mask the giant held a frown on his face. “Not disapprove mind you, jus’ have a bad feeling is all. Don’t care for this town one bit.”

Jaden was glad for the mask covering his face as it split into a grin. Had the older man seen it he would have been red with indignation. Jaden always found Bern’s unexpected concern to be a source of humour. The man had been trying to act like an estranged father…or perhaps an uncle ever since Jaden had assumed command of the 7^th patrol squadron, never telling him exactly what he might be doing wrong but certainly suggesting it. A hard man, but a loyal one. The huge brute of a man was nothing like what a first impression would ever reveal. Underneath his thick skin was a tender-hearted and thoughtful soldier who was loyal to a fault.

The sergeant growled as he glanced back at Jaden. He must have caught sight of the smile from Jaden’s eyes for he wrenched the reigns of his horse so hard the horse very nearly wheeled in a complete circle. Jaden had to bite his lip in order to keep from chuckling.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eyes, Jaden thought once about telling Fernald to knock off whatever he was doing and go help Bernweld, but upon closer inspection Fernald was furiously attempting to brush the dust off of his cloak with his gloved hands—already covered in the red-orange dust. By the sounds coming from the man’s mouth Jaden could tell the man wasn’t having much success. Jaden shook his head.

Why would I not be surprised if a clown suddenly appeared juggling balls, then I could be the only lieutenant to ever make the claim of having led a patrol and a circus at the same time.

Bitter thoughts to go with the bitter taste of mud.

It took Bernweld only moments to relay the orders. The seventeen other men, not including Bernweld, Fernald or himself, were familiar with the drill having gone through similar exercises in the past ten or so towns. They took off in pairs, knocking unwary hunched figures out of the way as they careened off down side-streets with hungry looks in their eyes.

Jaden understood how his men felt. He had heard them all too often over the campfire. The quicker they find the deserter, the quicker they would all see home again. Home—a place far, far away from all this cursed dust. He hadn’t seen his little sister in ages, he wondered how tall she was now. She had been only seven when he left six-months ago on his tour of duty. She would be eight by now. Had she grown at all, Jaden wondered. The thought of her smile brought a pang of longing. How he missed home.

Before he knew it Jaden was alone with Sergeant Bernweld. With a nod to his superior the Sergeant moved off in the lead. Leave it to Bernweld to watch over Jaden—the man was worse sometimes than a nagging mother. Although his mother could never so surely wield a sword…a rolling pin or a crochet needle might be a different story though. Muttering to himself ruefully Jaden reluctantly nudged his horse to follow.

The tide of bodies in the street thickened as they progressed inwards. The people here were a might more sociable. Their angry shouts filled the streets and naked steel flashed more than once in the afternoon sun. The tents that had sprouted out of almost every clear patch of land near the outskirts thinned but became progressively larger until they were replaced completely by permanent red-clay shacks which marked the inner city limits.

Passer-by’s eyed the two men on horse askance. It was obvious that the horses themselves were what caught people’s eyes. No-one else seemed to be riding any sort of animals. Carts filled with goods were drawn by bestial looking men, their bare skin covered with the red dust and tattoos of various colourful designs. Locals, Bernweld revealed after following his gaze. Most of the decent sized carts had twice as many men guarding them—stout cudgels knocking men who failed to get out of their way with proper haste. Young boys trailed the horses, whispering to themselves as they moved as a cautious group together. Bernweld explained when Jaden inquired that they moved in groups to avoid being kidnapped and sold. No honour among thieves.

Jaden’s mount, Faraday as he was named after the great explorer, snorted, spraying dust into Jaden’s field of view. Not that it mattered really. There was so much dust in the air anyhow it was a miracle these people could breathe without the masks that he and his men wore. They made up for the lack of masks by spitting every few steps.

Jaden was forced to rein in his mount in when Bernweld stopped suddenly as a cart trundled across their path from a side street. This cart was being pulled by a strange beast that Jaden had never seen in his life. A short four legged thing was the best description that came to mind. It was a wonder how its legs supported such a large head decked with curling horns. The driver of the wagon gave a start as his eyes met with Jadens’. The man jerked on reins and with a great moan from the beast of burden, the cart shuddered to a halt.

Shouted curses from various figures didn’t seem to faze him as he stared at Jaden and Bernweld, his eyes wide with—surprise perhaps? Jaden wasn’t sure.

Bernweld pulled back his cloak enough to reveal the short sword he wore around his belt. He growled at the driver. “Move along old man.” The unspoken threat hung in the air between them. The driver paled as he clutched the reigns tightly in his fists.

“What’s the bloody hold up Olin?” a rather large head popped out of the covered wagon, his jowls flapping. The newcomer’s tiny black pupils danced from his driver to Bernweld to finally land on Jaden.

“Your driver Sir seems to have stopped in the middle of the road for some strange reason. My companion here was simply asking him to move.” Jaden thought he had kept his voice level, but the man suddenly looked considering at him. Perhaps he hadn’t hidden the impatience in his voice well enough. Jaden’s hands itched to loosen the bastard sword which was slung in a hidden sheath beneath his cloak on his back. He mustn’t be too obvious.

The man heaved himself out of his wagon and landed with a thump on the cracked clay. “Ahhh beggin’ your pardon fine Sirs, he stopped because I’m on the lookout for fine gentlemen such as yourselves. Allow me to introduce myself.” He pulled a kerchief out of one of his many pockets to mop his extensive forehead before flourishing a bow. Well, a half-bow at most. It was a miracle that such a fat man could bow at all. “I am Pellivar G’negthros, but a humble trader out of Varush. Alas I have fallen under hard times upon reaching this glorious city. My men deserted me and now I fear to make my way back out of this city through the wastes. I fear we will not make it back to the empire alive.” He paused to catch his breath, spitting out some red clay before mopping his forehead hesitantly.

It was hard to tell from his vantage point, but Bernweld looked to be eyeing the man suspiciously. The trader started shuffling his feet under their combined glares, his kerchief was no longer wiping sweat off his forehead but putting more on. He turned to Bernweld, stepping forwards hesitantly he made as if to grab the man’s boot but his sergeant deftly let his horse dance out of reach.

“We’re not interested trader. Seek hired help elsewhere.” Bernweld nearly shouted at the poor man, making him stumble back towards his wagon.

“No…please…you’re truly my last hope if you will only listen—“ he stammered, ringing his kerchief in vain. Jaden’s eyes were drawn inexplicably to the wagon again then back to the driver who looked about to have a heart attack. Warning bells were clamouring inside Jaden’s head, demanding his attention. A ghost would certainly be the only thing whiter.

“He said we’re not interested,” Jaden spoke up, “But you stir something within me Sir. You make me suspicious.”

“S…suspicious… but good sir!” the merchant pleaded, his voice taking on an oddly desperate tone. “I am but a very h…humble trader-“

Jaden ignored the man and continued. “Suspicious because you walk freely around in this town yet no one seems to bother you, even without your guards. Suspicious because though you are beset by hooligans on every side, you worry and cringe over the thought of travelling through the waste without escort where the chances of you actually meeting even a single bandit are less than that of a bolt of lightning striking me out of the clear sky at this very instant.”

The trader seemed to slump with every word that came out of Jaden’s mouth, he wrung his hands nervously as Jaden paused in his tirade to survey the wagon. “You have me all wrong…that is to say, good Sirs I am offended—rather, that you would accuse me…” he trailed off, turning as white as his driver had moments ago when Bernweld grasped his sword hilt firmly in his hand.

Jaden hadn’t finished, his eyes held the trader fast. “Suspicious because…I do not like the looks of your eyes.” The trader blanched and made to grab hold of the tarp covering his wagon for support but the tarp very nearly flew off as armed men burst from their hiding place inside the wagon, swarming towards the two mounted men screaming curses and brandishing weapons.

“GET THEM!”

Jaden’s short sword at his waist was only a second late to clear his scabbard, pale blue tempered steel glinting through the mire. He cleaved the nearest head cleanly from its torso before the man could even bring his rusty mace to bear.

Me and my biiig mouth. Jaden’s arm rose and fell as it got to work flooding the street with crimson.

Chapter 1	Chapter 2	Chapter 3	Chapter 4
Chapter 5	Chapter 6	Chapter 7	Chapter 8
Chapter 9