The memory of their disaster in the Thueban Alghisi had become a faded scar, even if the edges of it still itched, and finally reaching Al-Rimal four months off from their intent did little to ease it. But they had arrived, finally, Matchsticks clomping along the dirt-strewn paths.

Al-Rimal was a homely place, she found, but that did not diminish the beauty of it. It didn’t have the paved streets or elegantly painted buildings of Samudr-tat, but what it did have was a reverberating pulse of history. The buildings were a mish-mash of old sandstone fortifications with wide entrances and high ceilings, newer extensions made from imported wood and stone, and what looked like temporary structures of heavy tarp and sturdy poles.

It felt like a town of transition- where desert outpost and modern living intertwined. What once had been a warzone was slowly being reclaimed by mundane life, and there was a sort of grim beauty in that.

The people too seemed a cheery sort- children playing football, market-folk calling out for fresh fruit, people milling about their day in work clothes and pretty fashion. More Felisian in style than the sights she saw in back home, but still with that sturdy, desert-living style.

Even as the culture shifted, people were people, and she appreciated that.

But that cheeriness, that beauty, came at a cost. Paid at the edges, in the patched bullet holes and the broken ornamentation.

And, in the town’s occupiers.

Watching, every vigilant, in sharp dress pants and tight blue coats with a tiny silver shield pinned to the chest, was the Felisian military. Standing guard at corners, eyes concealed by the brim of their boxy, flat-topped hats and long, black-silver rifles at ease but in their hands.

The Felisian crest on their hat- a shadowed lion, eyes empty, fangs gleaming- showed the emotion their stone-stoic faces seemed to hide.

Glowering, waiting for a chance like predators on the prowl.

“We’ll be okay, right?” Saila whispered to Noble, as they rode past one such stalwart soldier. “You are… kind of a run-away from them. I guess.”

“Suppose so,” he answered, then, “and suppose I am. Best to act natural; you hungry?”

A faint grumble in her stomach answered that before she could make the words.

“Thought so. See anything you like?”

A worried sort of itching, like the hair at the back of her neck going on end, flickered across her. She tried to push it aside, and looked around.

“Let’s try one of those open-air stalls- that kebab smells delicious.”

“Right then. Let’s go, horse.”

“His name is Matchsticks.”

“He’s a horse, Saila.”

“A horse that saved your life, soldier-man.”

The three of them laughed lightly, and in the veil of jabbing banter, that feeling slipped away- surely nothing but a sharp wind and the missing presence of her friends.

###

“You know,” Saila started, mouth half-full with grilled lamb and pepper slices, bits and pieces hanging off from where she’d chomped down.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full.”

“You know,” she continued, “You’ve really gotta start respecting Matchsticks!”

The two of them were the kebab stall she had sniffed out, a lovely little kitchen set in a stone wall, tarp overhanging the spinny, bar-stool seating. Saila had taken such a seat, fidgeting occasionally, while Noble simply stood.

“You really still on about that?” Noble asked.

“Of course I am! He’s a good horse-”

“That he is.”

“- and a good horse deserves a good name!”

“Suppose so, but-”

“And for some ridiculous reason you,” she paused, swallowing her food, “you don’t think Matchsticks is a good name!”

“Never said that.”

“But you did think it, right?”

Noble gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe so. Do you think he likes it himself?”

“I- well, probably! You said he was a war horse, right?”

“That I did.”

“Then they probably named him something stupid, like… Knife, or Gun.”

Saila could feel the dead-pan look from Noble’s eyes.

“Th- they might have. It’s not- the Specter of Death calls her horse Despair and-”

Laughter, echoing even if it was stifled through his mask.

“Oh come on it could happen! They could have name him Gun! And besides if he didn’t like Matchsticks, he’d tell me!”

“Oh, the horse can talk to you now?” Noble countered, so hard Saila almost spun full three-sixty in her seat. She took another chomp of her kebab.

“Wu- no, but I think he’d tell me, somehow. He’s a smart horse.”

“That he is. Told me his work name once; Fuerblitz. Exovan- like the horse.”

“Fireblitz…?”

From nearby, Matchsticks whinnied in response, and seemed to stand at attention.

“N- no way! Impossible! There’s no way he told you his name horses can’t talk!”

“Sure they can’t. Rest assured; he likes your name for him too. The former’s more a role than anything else.”

“Huh…” Saila looked over at Matchsticks, standing as prim and proper as a shaggy horse could. Then it hit her; “HEY! Wait a second! You’re bullshit -”

Noble flicked up his mask long enough to take a slow, methodical bite of his own kebab, meat and veggie sliding gentle off the stick in a single motion.

“-ting come on Noble, don’t leave me hanging like this!”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

He chewed, thoughtfully and carefully- like he always did, but with an unmistakable smugness to it.

Saila kicked at him from her seat, just about knocking herself off.

“Oh you’re doing this on purpose! Bastard man! Metal-head! You-”

You Knnnnaaave.

Something sharp and cold slipped up against her spine, and the shock was enough to complete the promise her kicks made- she fell from her seat landing in a thud on the dirt.

“S- Saila?”

Noble’s voice was distant, fuzzy.

Hehe, hahahaha…

Not words, but senses. Feelings, like a prickling at the edges. Saila rose to her hands and knees, eyes scanning the surrounding with a worried frenzy.

Kids playing football.

Soldiers- scary, but not looking at us.

“Saila, are you okay?!”

People, going about the day.

What is- what did I-

An icy hazy built at the base of her neck.

She was sure- certain more than most things- that a pair of eyes had traced right across the crowds to her, and lingered with a death-glare.

The feeling itself worried Saila more than what had caused it. A threat was expected- a part of her was waiting for it, that ambush of sudden violence around every corner. But the fact that she could feel it, that it nibbled at her nerves, sharp and jagged but just out of sight? That made her skin crawl.

“Saila!”

Noble was on one knee, at her side- scanning the crowd just the same, but one hand firmly on her shoulder to push in front of her if need be.

“U- hm, uh, yeah, I’m…” Saila flopped into a sitting position, shaking the feeling from her as much as the dirt. “I just, had a weird vibe. Someone was staring at us.”

Noble was silent a moment, tension building in his legs. To others he might look a statue, but Saila could see the action in his intent.

Voices at a whisper, so none could hear.

“I don’t… see anything.”

“Yeah, I didn’t either. Felt it. I- I think it’s just… paranoia.”

“Saila you fell off your stool.”

“I was asking for it. Look, I don’t…”

Reflex had her rub at her right eye with the back of her palm- finding nothing, a calm settled in, though her nerves still wavered like plucked violin strings.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah. It was just a bad feeling.”

“Okay. Good. You sure?”

Concern was present more than gruff focus- she’d assuaged his fears, at the very least.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Nobl-”

“Oh, dreadfully sorry!” the owner of the stall interrupted. “These stools do get loose at times. Please, another kebab, on the house.”

Yeah, that’ll help. I need to eat, Saila thought, hopping to her feet. “Sure, thanks my good man.”

She took up her dropped, half-eaten kebab and handed it back, exchanging it for the full fresh one.

“And for the gentleman- I am sorry, truly.”

“No problem,” Noble said. He took the offered food, but tried to argue at least a half-payment, and Saila lost herself in eating.

She hadn’t realized how hungry she was, with all the talking. Before she knew it, she was back down to where she’d been previous, a few pieces liberated from their piercing prison, the rest chewed and torn in places. Saila hated the feeling of wood on her teeth, the scratch as she ripped her morsels free- made her wonder why she suggested this in the first place. She blamed the smell; the heady aroma of grilled lamb was delectable and-

A rapid staccato, like a sewing machine seeking blood.

In an instant, Noble was in front of Saila- but nothing came.

“Ne- Noble, what was that?”

“Gunfire. Felisian.”

Sharp and solid, without a hint of emotion.

In the distance, people were running, crowd noise turned to worried shouts.

“Stay here- or stay behind me, little lady.”

Then he moved- Saila hot on his heels.

###

Al-Rimal was a dingy town, at the edge of the Anarkali Sand Sea. Virtually required visiting if you had eyes on Zarrhdad, but clearly a place en passant. The sort no one would linger unless they could afford the pause, wished to dine on local cuisine- good he’d heard- or wished to rest weary, travel-worn legs.

Bluntly, it was a shit-hole, and the ranger hated it with every fiber of his being.

Oh no, oh no, I must be gentle. This is not my Felisia and these are not my people. They live here, are accustomed to it, and should I let it, it will grow in me too.

That and who else knew what- itchy fangs chewed his senses like a cow chewed cud, languid and self-assured.

But, whatever. Came with the territory.

Besides, he did enjoy his job, and the needling impulses amped that joy, dangerously so.

Five men in total they had been, Trestarian army hold-outs. Young pups and old dogs with dull pistols and sabers at their belts. They’d said their piece; “you Felisians have stepped upon us too hard and too frequently, we will not surrender, blah blah blah”, and he’d smiled in return- contempt hidden by his sunglasses, and made it clear they’d come to violence.

They stared each other down, a classic gun-fight straight from children’s stories.

The big bad army versus the lone ranger.

Except this ranger cheated through his teeth.

He always loved the spray of red as he swept the muzzle across them. Pretty little bursts of red mist and gun smoke. Another dash of fertilizer over this dirt pile of a country.

I should confirm the kills, just in ca-

“It came from over here!” a muffled shout rang through the air.

Birds flew when startled, so he did too; leaping into the shadowy awning of an old fort, scrunched flat behind one of its supports.

Just in time- two travelers turned the corner with a clear intention in their moves. The taller, a man in a cloak of the local style, the hint of a filtration mask beneath his slouched hat. Beside him, an odd lad in girlish dancing clothes.

Something about them seemed familiar, and a hungry need to watch them asserted itself.

He allowed it- he was interested in how others viewed his handiwork anyway.

The pair approached the bloody spectacle with trepidation in every step. The kid balked at it, hesitance clear- and the taller man could see it.

“Saila, you hold back- cover me,” he said.

Weird name for a lad.

“I... I’ve seen- okay. Okay, I’ll do that.”

Such elegant hesitation, and such a sweet voice. Neither said it, but it was clear they simply wanted to stop him- her? I’m not sure- from seeing the corpses up close.

The wandering interloper approached them, dipped down to inspect something he already knew by the way he moved. Rout, routine, his true attention on the area around them, looking for the perpetrator.

His breathing stilled, silent as night.

“Noble?” the Saila-one raised.

“Just making sure,” the one called Noble replied. He stood, and turned to his companion.

“Felisian, like I thought. Machine pistol.”

“A pistol did… that?”

Oh yes, oh yes it did! Impressed, yes?

Something subtle pricked at the ranger’s collar.

No, she’s not.

She- hold, no, out. Get out.

I will not. We waaaatch.

Fine then. Let the hanger-on hang.

“-ome kind of automatic weapon,” Noble said, mid explanation. “Like one of their rifles, but small-arms fire. For stealth and the like. A thuggish weapon.”

I’m no thug!

You are, oh butcher birdie.

I’m- I most certainly am NOT!

“Thuggish?”

“Brutal. Inefficient, in a sense- poor aim, but little need. Poor souls were… it was over in an instant.”

The oh-so-Noble man stood and scanned his surroundings, eyes hidden behind the brim of his hat and the shine of his lenses. The dancer, Saila, looked as well, and something…

Ah. A thin thread, bereft of hook.

What do you mean, monster?

Hehe, hahaha… you remember. You recognize them- you’ve seen them.

It hit, then. The things that sharp-eyed machine told him, yes, ohoho yes that, and the fact that he’d seen them on his way through town, eating and talking about some fool thing. He’d felt it, a little bite against his throat informed by recognition, and he’d let it loose a bit. For just a few seconds, he’d considered walking up and showing them a good time.

He thought that now, too. Out in the open, unexpecting- not really, they know I’m SOMEWHERE, but they don’t know WHERE and- and vulnerable. A little pull of the trigger and-

Shadows, faint and wispy, ringed his ear.

No. You leave them be- I told her we’re I’d be and you’ll ruin my fun.

Tch, annoying toothsome wretch, I thought it was your brother you wanted. I’ll kill the boy-

Girl, and she would maim you.

-and leave him nice and… excuse, MAIM me? Not kill?

Oh no, she’ll kill you too. Maim first. You’d escape with your life, vow your little chirps of revenge, and then pop- squashed like the murderous wanton you are. So no, no killing, not today and not her. She is mine.

Sh- he- Saila’s a child, you think I can’t kill a child?

I don’t. And you won’t.

The shadows faded, but the fangs kept a vice grip on his soul and brain. He could fight it, go out there and make a fool of himself, half in control half stumbling. He’d have to really, truly want it if he intended to kill them here.

He didn’t.

Knave was a heinous creature.

But his way was quite a bit more fun.

Fine. I wait- but no promises.

As we’ve ever been then, butcher birdie.

The echoing shadow of laughter worked through the folds of his mind, infectious and distracting- he’d almost lost track of his newfound friends.

“Think we ought to get going,” Noble said, at the corner of the ranger’s hearing.

“Yeah. We uh… we’re not staying the night, are we.”

The subtle crunch of boot on dirt, as Noble started walking.

“Suppose not, little lady.”

Saila’s footsteps joined Noble’s, and the two left the bloody scene, the last who’d care to see it till the vultures came and picked it clean, as far as the ranger suspected.

A wild grin creased his features, and he said- they said, shadows working half his jaw.

“See you soon, drachenkind.”

######