“I thought Marshal’s team were down in Meter Mark?” James asked as they descended the short tower of the shuttle pod station.

Sam explained that a Rimas construction site had been in the works since the start of last Wind Season, but it’s been a problematic process. James wondered why he’d never heard of a site there.

They crossed a cracked road to a field of red grass and weeds. The sounds of the central city had faded to a low buzz. Their sandals thudded and crunched on the rocky ground, and a soft, warm breeze was the only other sound.

“This place?” James asked. Colossal skeletons of buildings were the only distinct landmarks in the run-down area he surveyed. The rubble and broken concrete gave the impression of a dead, forgotten land. Only the larger glass structures and shuttle tracks in the distance reminded him he was still in Tyken Town.

An old Tygal Travel adboard lay among the debris, partially obscured by grit and dirt. Its promises of a perfect getaway seemed apt for their current situation. The remains of a rusting mechanoid—a hollowed torso with an arm and a leg missing—lay on its back looking up at the bright sky. The rusted metals, along with a rotting animal corps and other potent substances, contributed to the harsh smells that surrounded the area.

James finally saw the three levels of the unfinished building site in the distance. The sun reflected off a large crane that had been left there, among other equipment and vehicles spread out. A long-abandoned bus lay eroding in the dirt, all its windows broken, now a likely home to the various insects and wildlife.

Despite what Sam had said of the site, it looked as though it hadn’t been used in years. The crane and other large equipment were not covered with a protective plastic, as was regulation for equipment left for any prolonged period. No workstations, cabins, or anything that would commonly be found on an active site could be seen. Nothing that had not been left to rot, anyway.

“Sam…” James’s question went unasked.

Sam slowed as they approached the site. When they rounded a portable cabin lying on its side, he lowered to a crouch, and James found himself doing the same.

Two figures were inside the first open area of the site. Their clothes were scruffy and torn; one was shirtless, with patches of dirt and grime over his thin frame. They stirred an uneasy feeling within James. What disturbed him the most was how familiar they felt.

The ground lowered further ahead, leading to a muddy ditch. Sam gestured and they stepped down into the ditch, crouching and using the rock wall as cover.

“What’s going on?” James asked with frustration. Sam hadn’t said a word since they left the shuttle pod.

Sam looked over the rim of the ditch. As James waited for a response, he noticed the ruddy weeds growing out from beneath a concrete slab. The grass was moving, as if with a mind of its own. The tentacle-like weeds curled around a passing insect and lifted it, dragging it into the darkness under the concrete. James had never seen anything like it.

“All right, James.” Sam lowered himself against the ditch. “I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

James put the strange grass out of his mind and focused on his colleague. “Sam, what’s going on? What’s happened to Marshal’s team?”

“They’re safe. They’re down in Meter Mark. This isn’t their new location.”

“What’re you talking about?” A familiar tension gripped James’s chest.

“Right now, James you’re going to have to trust me. Over there are two very dangerous men. I wouldn’t recommend running out or making any loud noises.”

“Who are they?”

“We’ll have to get in to answer that. Better to show you.” Sam rose and looked over the rim. “They’ve gone now. Just a little further we can—”

“No,” James hissed. Frustration and annoyance had reached a peak for him. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what in Medd’s name is going on.”

Sam sighed and looked around, as if searching for a solution among the debris. “This morning you were attacked by thieves, who knocked you unconscious.”

“How―”

“Just listen to me right now. The men who attacked you are inside that building, with the rest of their gang. They have something. Something important.”

James’s head was a hot mess of confusion. He tried to think back to that alleyway, which seemed so long ago. Evan was missing when he’d woken up alone, but had anything been taken?

“We just need to get closer. To those beams. And you’ll see what I’m talking about. Just there, and you’ll see.”

“Okay,” James said with a heavy breath.

He shifted to a crouch beside Sam, and found his legs were weak when they jogged. The two metal beams jutted from the cracked ground just outside the entrance of the building. Sam stopped by one of the beams and James pressed himself against the other, about eight feet away.

Dirt and debris occupied the large rooms of the framework, with thick pillars outlining the sections. Ahead of them, the ground lowered into a wide trench, dug to set up the pipe system of the building. James’s heart jumped when he saw a group of people, four men and a woman, down in the trench. They all wore similar rags and old clothing over their dishevelled appearances.

On the far end of the trench was a dusty maroon armchair, large enough to fit two people comfortably. The gold-rimmed high back was chipped and dulled, the plump cushion stained and ripped; a far cry from its once extravagant existence.

James strained to hear the coarse speech of the group. Two of the men were speaking of a young couple they’d just robbed. The main storyteller, a tall red-haired man in a knee-length waistcoat and faded trousers, described a fur jacket he’d taken from his female victim, bragging of the price it would fetch in some market. The partner of the storyteller, a lean bald man in a faded shirt and ripped shorts, took offence at this and stepped to him with anger. James understood the fur jacket should have been the bald man’s, but the storyteller had taken it from him after stealing it from the woman.

They argued over ownership with wild threats and curses. The others in the group were full of anger and intense bravado as they joined in. James reeled at their repulsive attitudes. He’d mostly known friendly people in his time in Tyken Town, and hated the kind of people that caused trouble to others, like these savages.

James spared a look to Sam, hoping for some answers to why they were there, but his colleague was watching the group intently.

“But see here,” the red-haired storyteller said once their arguments died down. “What we do got is a solid shine all in itself. Ain’t that right, Fess?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Oh yes, a solid side quest.” The bald man, Fess, had lowered his voice. Murmurs and sniggers spread among the group. “Just for us. Got us some solid watches. Too shiny. Will fetch more than you can find in a season.”

“That’s right.” The storyteller’s movements were animated with excitement. “They were carrying a box of honestly shiny watches, coming from the high markets in Rio. I said right away they’d be solid yielders, didn’t I say so, Fess? I keep telling you all, you need to be looking around Avilliana more. That’s where you find the good folk.”

Their talk stopped when two figures appeared on top of a large pile of rock and rubble by the big chair. One was a tall man, bare-chested with angular, taut muscles and a fierce look. The other was a dark-skinned bald woman, with an alluring, long-limbed form in tight leathers. They descended the debris and joined the group.

The man’s almond skin marked him as a Canarrian. He had a lean frame with strong, tightly coiled muscles. His head was closely shaved, with thick stubble over his large jaw. Protruding brows and a jutting chin contrasted with shallow cheeks, giving him an ape-like appearance.

James’s heart jumped when he noticed the large sword slung over the man’s back. Bouncing with his stride was Evan’s sword; the familiar golden hilt protruded from the scabbard. James tried to think of what this could mean. He was lost in thought for a moment before realising the man was speaking.

“Haven’t I taught you to play nice?” His speech was slow and measured; a menacing drawl of a voice.

The bald woman sat herself on the edge of the trench, dangling her long, booted legs with a bored air about her. Even with the faint dirt on her face, James could see she was a remarkably beautiful woman. She had a regal, sculpted appearance, her eyes a mesmerising gold. Greatly out of place with these brutish people.

“I hear you had quite an adventure, Remian,” the newcomer said to the storyteller.

Remian shrugged and rubbed a hand through his hair nervously. “That’s right. But, well, see, we ain’t get as much as we thought. Just a couple of rings, a necklace…”

“That so? Well ain’t that a little jump. What is it that I keep telling you folk? Huh?” He pointed to a short-haired woman in the crowd. “Lenni, what do I keep saying?”

The woman looked bewildered, her eyes darting over the group. “Uh… food on the ground means its for everyone?”

The Canarrian’s sigh sagged his shoulders. “The other thing. Anyone?”

Someone said, “Never put your hand where you wouldn’t put your cock?”

“Blight’s balls! The other thing.”

A low voice said something that James couldn’t hear.

“What was that?” the Canarrian said sharply.

The hesitant voice repeated, “When in doubt, mumble.”

“Ah!” The Canarrian huffed with frustration, stomping a foot. “You’re a bunch of moonbrains, all of you! I meant, I always say that sharing is caring.” He tried to compose himself as he returned to the storyteller. “Anyway, Remian. You finding nothing juicy is interesting, seeing as you picked a couple of Victory City folk. I saw that coat you brought back. And the seal on the woman’s bag; a tidy bit of wealth needed to carry that around, I might say. But all you found on ‘em was a few bits of crass jewellery? Tell me now, that weren’t all you found was it, Remi?”

Remian fought for an answer. “I… I swear, Rolan… me and Fess showed you all we got. They… they weren’t worth much else.” The man physically shivered with fear in his eyes.

The Canarrian, Rolan, made a sour face before nodding in agreement. “No worries.” He slapped a hand over Remian’s shoulder, an ugly grin spread across his face. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about this later, anyhow. Once the boys come with our guests.”

Their situation suddenly came back to James. He saw a sharp look of alarm on Sam’s face, before hearing footsteps coming to them.

A dark figure appeared and pulled Sam away from the beam. When James moved to help him, two massive sweaty arms wrapped around his waist, lifting him off the ground. He struggled under the thick arms, as the man let out a toying laugh. Twisting and squirming gave James a firm footing. He pushed himself up and slammed the back of his head into his captor’s nose. He was thrown to the ground and scrambled away while the large man clutched his bloodied face. His attacker was a bald man who wore a heavily stained waistcoat that strained over his massive belly. The man gathered himself and stood menacingly, blood pouring from his nose.

Throwing a look to Sam, James saw his friend had managed to swipe a lead pipe from his attacker and now was standing his ground, with the attacker hesitant to get closer.

The large man approached James, arms out in a grabbing pose. A sick smile spread across his puffy face, and his eyes shone with a terrible, childish excitement.

James decided he needed to move first if he had any hope of getting out of there with Sam. He swung a fist at the man, who leaned aside with little effort. In the instant James found himself off balance, the man grabbed his torso and pinned his arms against his body. James knew right away that struggling this time would get him nowhere.

The giant man carried him toward the group, and he saw Sam was being dragged now by two men. Sam’s head hung limply, but he showed signs of consciousness.

James’s head was a maelstrom of fear and questions. Why had Sam brought them here? If he’d known these men had Evan’s sword, why would he bring James to them? He would have been more concerned with Sam’s part in this if it weren’t for the sheer dread that overcame him when he was thrown to his knees. Sweat poured from him as he looked up at his captors.

Rolan stepped toward them in smooth, wide strides. He grinned at them; his sheep in the wolves’ den. Around Rolan’s thick neck was a string of fetishes—some feathered and wooden icons, what looked like a micro-chip, an iridescent marble, and a severed fingertip. James reeled back, feeling his stomach churn.

“Welcome. I trust you know our mutual acquaintances.” The Canarrian made a show of speaking in a clear, resonating tone.

His words rang true when James saw Sam’s attacker. It was the man dressed in black, who had attacked him that morning. Among the gathered people was the massive man who had also been in the alleyway. The other one, the tall man who’d held a knife to his neck, wasn’t present as far as James could see.

The man in black smirked at James, his eyebrows flicking up, clearly impressed with himself. James’s blood boiled at his smug look.

“So these are the two you told me about, Troy?” Rolan asked.

Another ugly, slimy grin spread across the face of the black-clad man. Troy. “One of ’em. Don’t know the red jacket fella.” With his head bowed and eyes glaring, Troy looked like a predator enjoying his captured prey. He shivered at times, vibrating with agitation or restrained energy. “The pointy-eared one ain’t here. We knocked him up something fierce. Likely halfway back to his filthy rock by now.”

“Forget that one,” Rolan said. “What we got here is welcome enough.”

A moment passed with Rolan eyeing them both. With a casual air, he said, “We got no need for the red jacket. Kill him.”

Hands grabbed Sam and pulled his arms behind him. Adrenaline burst within James. He ducked under the reaching hands of his captor and darted across the space to Sam. He charged at the man in black and collided with the man, throwing them both to the ground in a rolling heap.

Rolling free, the man in black scrambled to his feet and advanced on him. James raised his fists, standing his ground with legs much weaker than he would have liked, and blinked away the sweat falling into his eyes. To the side, he heard Sam struggling against his captors. The man in black lunged with a swinging fist. James narrowly ducked under the blow, although the man’s next backhand connected with his temple, dropping him to the ground.

James lay dazed for a moment, lights dancing around his vision. A thick boot swung and collided with his side, knocking the breath out of him. His coughs threw dust into his face, causing him to cough more, and his eyes watered from the pain.

Rough hands lifted him, turning him to face a sickly grin. With a handful of James’s shirt, the man in black pulled him closer. “Not so hot are ya? Some hero. Pathetic.”

He threw James back, sending him spinning and landing on his knees. James was now able to see that Sam was on his stomach, held down by two men, one of which was the enormous man that had held James earlier, who now had a nasty bruised eye. The other man had burn marks on his cheek, like he’d been scraped through the dirt.

Spiked boots filled James’s view. Rolan stood over him, his face barely visible over his protruding chest. The necklace of fetishes dangled above him, and the fingertip—green with a jagged yellow nail—was pointed directly at him.

“That’s enough outta you, hero,” Rolan said. He stepped to Sam, licking a corner of his mouth. His breath was heavy when he said, “A man who can go toe to toe with Lon and still breathe is a man I’d like to push harder. Later.”

A chill ran through James at the sick glint in Rolan’s eye as he glared at Sam.

“Fix ’im up boys. I want a tumble with him later.” The Canarrian’s gaze shifted to James. “As for you, hero, you just rendered yourself useless.”

With a smooth whisper, the great decorated sword slid from its scabbard. Its sharp edge reflected the sun as it moved through the air. Rolan held the powerful sword above him in a killing stance.

Sam spat a curse and fought under the hold of the two men, but he was helpless. The others in the group goaded their captors, laughing and calling out. Sounds faded for James when he saw the morbid smile on Rolan, his thick hands tightening on the sword.

This was it.

Squeezing his eyes tight, James awaited the killing blow.

Evan’s father’s sword swung down.