The wandering sword, p.1
The Wandering Sword, page 1
part #1 of Last Eternal Series
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
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CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
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About the Author
Note from the Author
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Wandering Sword: The Last Eternal Book 1
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CHAPTER ONE
He came with the dawn.
A lone figure covered in dust, wearing a tattered brown cloak that looked ready to fall apart in a strong wind. Despite the earliness of the hour, the day was already hot—it always was, here in the south—yet the stranger walked with his hood pulled up, concealing his features from view.
Claude frowned from his hiding spot in the roadside bushes as he studied the approaching figure’s shabby appearance, thinking it unlikely that the bastard would have enough coin to make robbing him worth it—not that such a thought would keep him from doing it, of course. After all, a little coin—or a little food—was far better than none. That he knew from hard experience.
He continued to study the figure as the stranger moved calmly down the road, his frown deepening as he took in the unmistakable shape of a scabbard strapped across the stranger’s back. And also hanging from the stranger’s back was a long bundle, wrapped in a dusty cloth that hid whatever it contained from view.
Claude licked his dry lips at the sight of that, his frown slowly turning into a smile. Whatever was in the bundle, the stranger didn’t want it visible, that much was clear, and that could only be a good thing. After all, men tended to hide things they considered valuable.
“What are you thinkin’, Claude?”
A whispered voice beside him, sounding like the low rumble of a thunderstorm, and Claude turned to regard Earl, his second. A monster of a man was Earl, with arms the size of tree-trunks and hands that could crush rocks, if he took it in mind to do so. Unfortunately, the man also happened to be a complete fool.
“I’m thinking, Earl,” Claude said, “that I’d give quite a bit to know what that fella is carryin’ on his back.”
The big man’s eyebrows drew down in concentration. “But…that’s a sword, ain’t it, Claude?”
Claude held back the sigh that threatened to come. A fool and no mistake. Zane had been a far better second, that much was sure, though since he’d caught an arrow through the throat, Zane wasn’t good for all that much. Except feeding the worms, maybe, and Claude thought that those bastards, at least, never had to worry about going hungry.
“I don’t think we should do this, Claude,” said another voice, a young man’s—a boy’s really. Claude turned to his nephew, Jessun, not bothering to suppress the sneer that always came to his face when he looked at his sister’s son. For the hundredth time in as many days, he inwardly cursed himself for letting his sister talk him into bringing the nineteen-year-old along. “I got a bad feeling about this one,” the boy said.
“How about you keep your mouth shut, or I show you what a bad feelin’ really is?” Claude countered. Then he turned to Earl. “Listen, this is how we’re going to do this. You and—”
“He’s got a sword, Claude,” his nephew said quietly.
Claude gritted his teeth, turning back to the boy. “And just what do you think you’ve got strapped in your belt there, boy? A candleholder?”
His nephew glanced down at the crude blade in its moldy leather sheath strapped to his waist, frowning. “I don’t know how to use it, though…what if he does?”
“And what if he don’t?” Claude demanded. “Heed me, boy, a man can starve to death wonderin’ over the ‘what if’s.’ We’re doin’ this, so keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told, or, nephew or not, I swear by the Eternals, I’ll—”
He cut off at the sound of a low whistle from Earl, spinning on the man. “Quiet, damnit,” he hissed. The big man didn’t seem to notice, though, too busy staring in the direction of the lone traveler.
Frowning, Claude followed his gaze and felt his own breath catch in his throat as a pure-white horse—the largest horse he’d ever seen—trotted over the rise in the road where the man had appeared moments ago. The man turned and said something, though too low for Claude to hear, and the horse gave its head a shake as it moved up and began to walk beside him.
“Damn,” Claude found himself saying.
“That’s a big horse,” Earl offered.
Even his fool second’s useless observation couldn’t sour Claude’s increasingly good mood, not now. The prospect of robbing the man, after all, had just gone from hoping to find a few hunks of stale bread and a few coins to quite a bit more. He didn’t know how much a horse that size would sell for, but he expected it would be a damn sight more than whatever the traveler hid in the bundle at his back.
But it wasn’t just the beast’s size; Claude didn’t know much about horses, never had been able to afford one himself, but even he could tell that the horse had been well taken care of, far better, it seemed, than its owner. For while the stranger looked one step—a very small one—removed from being a beggar, the giant horse was a far different matter. Its coat shone in the early morning sun, and it gazed forward with eyes bright with vigor, its body seeming to be made up entirely of muscles that shifted as it walked, as if it might explode into a gallop at any moment.
“H-how much you reckon we could sell that for, Claude?” Earl asked. “A horse like that?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Claude countered, still smiling.
“But who would we even sell it to?” Jessun said. “A horse like that, once we steal it, word’s likely to get around about it—there ain’t no mistaking it. Besides, horse that size, people’ll ask questions. It won’t do to just say we found it.”
Claude felt a bit of his mood souring after all as he noticed Earl frowning. “Might be he’s right, Claude,” the big man said. “Maybe we ought to let this one pass. After all, the lad says he’s got a bad feelin’.”
“You ever known him to have a good one?” Claude snapped, telling himself that he would have to have a long talk with his nephew. Soon. Maybe the kind of talk only one of them walked away from—after all, being family didn’t give the bastard any right to screw with Claude’s livelihood. “Besides, if we can’t sell the horse, or if it’s too risky, then…well,” he said, glancing back, “horse that big…that’d feed us for a while.”
“You mean you’d eat it?” Earl said, a childlike expression of disgust on his face, “a horse?”
“You ever starved, Earl?” Claude asked.
“No, Claude, but—”
“Well, I have. Went to bed with my guts achin’ like there were rats in there gnawin’ at me. You’re damn right I’d eat that big bastard before feelin’ that again. Shit, Earl, came to it, I’d eat you and the lad both. Now, can you all shut the fuck up and focus on the task at hand?”
The big man paled, swallowing hard. “O-of course. Sorry, Claude.”
“Now then,” Claude said, satisfied, “you take Dell and Brent, you go on up in front of the bastard, come out in the road. Carl still hidin’ up in the trees?”
“Don’t know, boss,” Earl said. “Can’t see him. You know, on accoun
Claude stared at the man, once again regretting his choice of second. Still, he told himself, even big bastards had to sleep. That was a guarantee. What wasn’t was that they’d wake up again. Might be time to clean house, Earl and his nephew both. Fact was, likelier than not, the thing was overdue. “Just take Dell and Brent and go out in front. Me and the lad here’ll come up behind him.”
The big man nodded. “Okay, Claude.”
Claude watched him trying to sneak away through the bushes, walking like he had to take a shit, making just about as much noise, Claude figured, as a rutting pig might. The big man made his way toward where Dell and Brent waited, and Claude watched as he relayed his instructions, watched as Dell gave a curt nod. According to him, Dell used to be a soldier, and while Claude didn’t know that to be true—mostly on account of he didn’t give a shit either way—there was no arguing that the man knew his business. Liked to drink a bit more than was good for him, but then who didn’t? What mattered was that the man was steady when steady was called for.
Brent, on the other hand, didn’t nod as Earl spoke. Instead, he grinned, a grin that grew wider by the moment until it looked as if the corners of his mouth meant to meet on the backside of his head. Claude winced even from where he crouched. Brent was damned good in a fight, fastest with a blade Claude had ever seen and that among no small amount of competition. The man might have made a fine second except for that he enjoyed showing that particular talent off a bit too much and sometimes took it in mind to stab—or kill—someone without any apparent reason. Not the type of man Claude wanted watching his back. After all, that’d just make it easier to stick a knife in it, if he took it in mind to do so.
He glanced up at the trees, looking for Carl, his scout. In truth, the man was a pickpocket turned mugger turned bandit and not particularly good at any of them, but bad pickpockets often made for good hiders, or so Claude had learned. If the man was up there in the trees, he was damned sure keeping out of sight, but just in case Claude raised one finger, signaling for him to hold his shot.
“Come on, lad,” he said then as he saw the other three in the distance preparing to step into the road. “Let’s get it done.”
“Claude, I—
“I know, I know you got a bad feeling,” Claude said, rising from his crouch. “As bad as it is, boy, it ain’t so bad as starvin’—you can take my word on that. Now stay behind me and keep your damned mouth shut.”
He rose and grunted at a crick in his back, knuckled it as he gave a stretch. Then he tugged at his sword belt in a vain effort to tighten it. It had fit once, but that time was years gone now, and those in between had been damned lean. Too damned lean.
“Don’t even look like he’s got nothin’ on him worth stealin’,” the boy said, sulking now.
Claude glanced at him, wanting to cuff him over the head but knowing if he did the boy’d cry out and give away their position. The man would know they were there soon enough, but Claude just as soon he didn’t know until Claude was ready for him to. “Maybe he don’t,” he answered. “There’s only one way to know for sure—now, quit your whinin’ and come on.”
And with that, he suited action to words, timing it so that he stepped out of the trees the same time as Earl and the boys, or at least near enough as to make no difference.
The stranger didn’t cry out, which was good—some did, and while there was no one nearby to hear, that being one of the primary reasons Claude had picked the spot in the first place, he’d just as soon get the thing done quiet, if he could. All that shouting and begging had a way of giving him a headache. The stranger didn’t cry out, but he did stop, he and his horse both, and Claude frowned as he noted that the two moved in unison far better than he and his lads.
The stranger seemed to regard Earl and the other two silently from beneath his hood before slowly turning his head to the side, looking over his shoulder at Claude and his nephew. Or, at least, he thought he was—wasn’t no way to tell for sure, not with the tattered hood hiding his features.
“Mornin’!” Claude called out, grinning, not drawing his sword, not yet, but walking forward with his hands up as if he meant to give the man a hug maybe. The stranger said nothing, didn’t even seem to so much as move, continuing to watch him from over his shoulder.
“I said mornin’!” Claude tried again.
“I heard you.”
Claude found himself frowning. He’d been in the game for a while, had long since forgotten how many such people he’d robbed, how many such roadsides he’d waited beside. He’d seen plenty of reactions from those whose coin purses he’d helped lighten, fear chief among them, but anger there too. This man, though, didn’t seem angry, and he damned sure didn’t seem scared. Claude’s frown deepened. It was that Eternals-blasted hood the man wore, that’s what it was, no doubt hiding his terrified expression.
“Well,” Claude said, forcing a grin. “Ain’t you gonna say it back?”
The man said nothing, only watching him, and Claude sighed, shaking his head as if with regret. “Don’t know what the world’s comin’ to, a man can’t wish another a good mornin’ and hear as much in return.”
The stranger said nothing, was so still it was hard to tell if he was even breathing. Claude glanced at the lad, saw him watching the man nervously as if he weren’t a lone man at all but a contingent of town guard come to escort him to his execution. Claude promised himself he would deal with the youth later, maybe permanently, tell his sister he tripped or got attacked by a wolf. Why, in the woods, anything might happen, and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. That was for later, though. For now, there was the dusty son of a bitch standing in front of him.
“Well,” Claude said, trying a different tack as he turned back to the man, “ain’t you gonna at least take your hood off? Or are you some famous king, afraid we’ll ask you for an audience? Or maybe…” He paused, his eyes going wide. “Are you some infamous criminal, fearin’ we might recognize you?” Earl and the others laughed at that, even the youth gave a nervous chuckle, and Claude found himself feeling better.
“There are those who would.”
The stranger slowly turned to fully face him, and the horse turned with him, like the damned thing was trained, and Claude felt better yet. Horse flesh was all well and good, but a beast in fine condition like the one with the stranger, and one trained too, well that’d fetch a pretty price. “That right?” Claude said, not having to fake the smile as much now. “And who are you then? King or criminal?”
The man said nothing, standing there casually as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Claude sighed. “Well, I s’pose that puts paid to the niceties, eh?”
“Suppose it does.”
“I guess you know why we stopped you?”
The man moved then, so abruptly that Claude found himself reaching for his sword, suddenly sure that the man meant to attack and never mind that it would be suicide considering that he was outnumbered six to one. The stranger didn’t attack, though. Instead, he only lifted his eyes, staring up at the canopy of the trees overhead. Or, more precisely, at one specific tree. Claude followed his gaze, seeing nothing but the branches of the trees, and the leaves adorning them. “Sorry, friend,” he said, annoyed, “but are you distracted?”
“Just wondering if your man means to join us.”
Claude frowned. “Just who the fuck are you?” he demanded, dropping the pretense of civility.
“Does it matter?”
Before he knew it, Claude’s fingers were tightened around his sword hilt. There was something about the man he didn’t like, something about the whole damn situation he didn’t like. He told himself it was nothing, just age. The truth was he was getting too old for this. The bald truth was that he’d been too old for the last ten years or more. He needed a break, needed to retire, in fact, but then selling the horse standing beside the man might go a long way toward making that more than just a dream. “Well,” he said, “best get to it then.” He drew his sword and started forward, pausing when he noticed the youth hesitating.
