CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
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Jameson Wicket
*~~~**~~~*
24th of Decepter, 935 PC
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Outside of Cora, Yormir Huff was the most important person left in Wicket’s life. He’d known he’d found a true friend the first night they’d met, when he’d bought everyone in Penelope’s Place a round of ale to impress a woman, only to hear Yormir holler that he’d buy the next one. They wandered around the pub together helping Penny and the waitresses deliver all the drinks, laughing and singing like fools. After that they became something like partners. Or maybe Yormir was his lackey back then. Whatever they were, they were close. Only ones from Wicket’s band of criminals to survive those days, which always meant something too witty for Wicket to figure out. All he knew was it was a miracle either of them made it out alive with Iris doing everything she could think of to hunt them down and kill them.
And here they were now, sitting in a thicket halfway across the Merusk Plains, on their way to one of the most dangerous places in the empire. Neither one of them wanted to be there, but because one was, they both were. That’s just how it went with them. Not even Alaric tried to come between them.
Yormir offered Wicket one of the several bottles of rum he’d stuffed into his saddlebags and sniffed the air like a hunting hound. Not too many men were known for a habit like him and his sniffing.
“Smell anything?” Wicket asked, turning down the bottle. How many times had he asked him that? Funny how one man’s habit could breed a different one in you.
Yormir took a swig of rum and sat the bottle in the dirt between his feet. “What, you quit drinkin’ and didn’t tell me?”
“Do ya smell anything or not?”
“Naught but a few animals.”
He’d given Yormir the nickname, The Old Wolf, years ago because he was an old soul but now he looked the part too. His brown beard was turning gray and his stomach was getting rounder each year. Somewhere along the road the two of them had apparently decided to see who could get fatter by the age of forty.
“Nothing’s always good. Let’s the rum go down easier,” Wicket said.
“Not that you’d know.” Yormir offered him the bottle again but he’d told himself he’d save his drinking for when he was alone. Wicket didn’t want to give Lace another reason to berate him. Fucking Alaric, knew damn well Lace and Wicket didn’t get along. Oh well, nothing he could do about it now except prove them both wrong by being something closer to a leader than they thought he could be. Lace because he was a piece of a shit and Alaric because some part of Wicket wanted the man’s respect.
The campfire had that blurry look all around it. The one Iris had tried to explain to him. That woman had a way of taking all the curiosity out of the world. Not like Lily who would have just chatted about it with him, wondering why it was there but not caring enough to find out.
The Patterson brothers stood a few feet apart on the other side of the flame, looking like Cora and Maddy had back at the inn. Lace was ready to pounce on anything that moved and the blonde one was holding the sword like it had shit smeared all over it. Two days of riding through the wilderness and Wicket still couldn’t remember the blonde one’s name for the life of him. Not much of a surprise when the brothers had ridden twenty yards ahead of him and Yormir the whole time. Lace’s idea, he reckoned.
The sound of steel striking steel really got Lace going. Even when the swords were moving so slow the whole thing looked like one of the plays Wicket had watched in Serelle years back. He could remember one of the actors telling the other one where to put his weapon in the middle of the fight. Same amount of thrills filled him then as now. Which is to say, none. But then the big ol’ warrior swung his greatsword so hard it knocked the much smaller one out of his brother’s hands. It hit the dirt and flipped a couple times before it ended up at Camila’s feet. She barely moved out of the way. The Camila he knew would have gone off on someone for sending a sharp blade flying at her but this version of the girl was starry-eyed and fawning over the pelt-covered warrior in front of her. It was a horrible look for her but Wicket reckoned he might be feeling the same way about a man so handsome if he had a little less between his legs.
“Dammit, Ashe. I said hold onto it tighter,” Lace said, picking up the sword and barely noticing his admirer. Ashe. Ashe. Ashe. He tried his best to lock the damn name in his brain. Never know when yelling someone’s name might save their life. Or yours.
“I didn’t let go on purpose,” Ashe said, shaking the sting out of his hand.
“Looked like it.” Lace shoved the sword at him. “Your rainbows and butterflies bullshit won’t cut it out here.”
Ashe wrinkled his nose. Meanest thing he’d done to this point. He was polite as a servant but tenfold more genuine. If Wicket had heard correctly that morning, Ashe didn’t believe in killing people; thought the whole war with the Lotus could be solved with words. Wicket didn’t know much, but he did know fighting Iris with words was even less likely to work than this cockamamie plan Alaric had come up with.
“You have to be able to swing a sword, Ashe. The Lotus aren’t going to sit down and chat with you. They’re monsters. You slay monsters.” Wicket liked Lace about as much as he liked a kick in the teeth, but he was right, his brother needed to know how to protect himself. If for no other reason than to keep his blood off Wicket’s hands. No matter what happened he was sure Lace would find a way to blame him if his brother died. “Now hit me.”
“I’d rather not break my hand so early on in the journey,” Ashe said.
“Not with your fist, with the sword.”
“You are not wasting magic to prove a point.”
“I’m not wasting anything. I’m saving you. Now hit me!”
The sword moved like it weighed more than the man as Ashe tried to pull it back far enough to slash at his brother. Lace stood, waiting for the attack. A bit of a shock filled the campsite as the silver flash tore through the air and slammed into Lace’s unprotected shoulder. The warrior didn’t grimace, he didn’t flinch, he didn’t even lose a drop of blood. His tunic didn’t fare so well of course. There was a nice big gash in it where Ashe had chopped at his brother’s magical armor. Just thick skin really, but it was every bit as good as any armor Wicket had seen, if not better.
“Again!” Lace shouted.
This time Ashe put his weight into it. Not that it added much to it. Wicket closed his eyes as the blade slammed into the side of Lace’s head. He heard Camila gasp.
“Three hells!” Yormir said. “Save that for the Lotus boys.”
Wicket looked back at the brothers to see Lace holding the tip of his sword at his brother’s throat, looking just as healthy as he’d been before the attack. Was it a wee bit wrong of him to wish the blade had given Lace a haircut no one could find cute? Probably, but he did anyway.
Camila was on her feet now. “That’s enough.” Her hand lowered Lace’s sword roughly; a hint of her real personality. She led him to one of the logs surrounding the fire, moving a mountain with her bare hand.
No one would ever guess Camila was Alaric’s daughter based on the man’s appearances these days but for those like Wicket, who’d seen him back before his run in with Iris, knew she was a spitting image of her pa. Just in lady form. Her long chestnut-colored hair had gained some tints of red over the years. It took her no effort to make it look gorgeous, even though she put a ton into it. Her cheekbones set the stage for a smile that stole the show. And whether she’d shown it yet or not, she had a presence that couldn’t be ignored when she unleashed it. She’d grown into that. She’d been so shy when they met that it had taken a month for her to speak to him. Once she did, she never shut up though. Until she realized how much she liked other things and completely forgot about Uncle Wicket.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Ay, Ashe. Come here, lad, Yormir said, waving the young man toward him and Wicket. They made room for him to sit between them on their log.
“Yes, sir.”
Yormir threw an arm around the blonde. “No need for formalities, lad. We’re not a bunch of soldiers now are we?” That was the truth. Alaric hadn’t even tried to find soldiers for the most part. Just went looking for Purists who could do the things he needed them to do. Found them too. In a world where finding Purists had become about as easy as finding a needle in a haystack, he’d found over a dozen. The man could do anything, except the one thing he wanted to do most.
“You’re right.” Ashe chuckled. “Not sure what exactly we are.”
“Look, lad. Your brother’s right. If you’re gonna survive out here, ya need to know how to protect yourself,” Yormir said. “But the way you’re swinging that sword’s not gonna protect ya from anything, not even yourself.” Yormir had given Wicket some similar advice back in the day, but it had nothing to do with a sword.
“What do you mean?” Ashe asked.
“I mean a sword ain’t the right weapon for ya.” Lace perked up, wondering what exactly The Old Wolf was saying to his brother. “You’d be better off keeping your distance.” He twisted around and grabbed something leaning against the log behind him. His beloved crossbow appeared, making about as impressive of an entrance as a drunk man stumbling into a pub. “I know it’s seen better days, but so has Wick and we’re trusting him.” He grinned at Wicket as he handed the weapon to Ashe. “This’ll keep that pretty face of yours lookin’ pretty.”
“I can’t take this,” Ashe said. “What will you use?”
“Your sword, lad. Ain’t ya ever traded with anyone before?” Ashe looked like he didn’t think Yormir could use a sword any better than he could. In truth, Wicket wasn’t all that sure either, his friend had been using the banged up crossbow for as long as he could remember.
Wicket placed the bottle of rum on top of the weapon for Ashe to have a drink.
“Don’t worry. Yormir’s good looks are behind him. Reckon the ladies won’t be losin’ much no matter what happens to him,” Wicket said.
“I don’t need good looks to impress the ladies,” Yormir said, grabbing his crotch and snatching the rum before Ashe could take a drink.
*~~~**~~~*
Wicket ran his thumb along the end of the deck of cards and said, “Wanna play some ruckus? Like old times? Reckon the fire should give us enough light to see.” He didn’t know what had come over him but with Yormir snoozing and the Pattersons standing in the trees doing whatever it was they did together, he’d thought it was a good time to ask his old card buddy to shuffle up and deal.
Camila had to pry her eyes off Lace but when they landed on Wicket, when he got a better look at her face, his hands got sweaty. Where was the little girl he’d played ruckus with? He’d been a hero to her. This woman made him uncomfortable and timid. Had to put his hand halfway in his pocket so he didn’t go wiping the sweat off on his pant leg awkwardly.
“Of course I’ll play some ruckus, Uncle Wicket.”
And just like that his nerves were gone. Her voice got time rolling backward. The same gentle smile she’d had as a girl put him right back in a booth in one of the countless pubs they’d spent time in.
“If I remember correctly, you still owe me twenty Leos,” she said, standing up. Lords she was tall now, came all the way up to his chin, not his belt buckle.
He handed her the cards and said, “And if I remember correctly, I let you win back then.”
*~~~**~~~*
“They don’t make a sound till they’re right on top of ya. Even then the only noise is that crackle that fills the air when they get to throwin’ their magic,” Wicket said. Three of the new Lotus ships were moving across the night sky. From this far away they looked like they were barely moving but he knew better. Damn things could move like gazelles.
They’d wandered away from the campsite a few hours later, when Yormir had woken up from his nap to see Wicket still awake – found a place for old friends to chat like old friends do when they’re alone.
A dot of red flipped through the air then disappeared into the grass as Yormir took the last drag of his smoke stick and flicked it out into the open plains. “Rellin?”
“Gotta be. Iris ain’t into that shit.” He took a swig of rum and passed the bottle to The Old Wolf. The alcohol ignited the torch that had somehow gotten into his chest.
Yormir sniffed the air, speaking before Wicket could ask him if he smelled anything. “Ya know how I feel about the past.” The moonlight made branchy shadows on his face. The breeze moved his thin bangs all around.
Wicket gave him a hard look, knowing where the conversation was heading. “The past is in the past for a reason.” He felt the same way.
A gulp. Then the sound of rum hitting the bottom of the bottle as it returned to its feet. “Aye. But I gotta ask ya.”
“She’s dead to me.”
“You’re sure? Because I ain’t puttin’ my life on the line just for ya t’get another glimpse of her.”
“She ain’t even in Northcrest.”
“No one ever knows where she is… Hops in one of them flyin’ boats and ends up on the other side of the empire before the rest of us get our pants on in the morning.”
Wicket put his hand out again. Talking about Iris was a damn good way to end up with a bottle in his hand and bad memories in his head. Why couldn’t they just talk about Lily? Or Cora. Or the fucking rash on his ass! Anything but Iris.
“She won’t be in Northcrest. The Creator hates me too much to make it that easy.” He’d never had what it took to tell Alaric he wanted to be the one to kill Iris. Does any man have the heart to take a boy’s favorite toy from him? Wicket sure didn’t. At least not in a way that Alaric would know it was him who’d taken it but it was only right that Wicket be the one to do it. He was the one who spent years with her. Alaric liked to act like he was the only one she’d ever torn apart but she’d left Wicket in more pieces than anyone. And besides, he wanted to hear her voice again, hear her say she still loved him. Even if that meant using his magic.
There was a short time when they just stood there, watching the ships crawl across the sky in silence. Eventually, Yormir let out a deep, growl of a chuckle. The Old Wolf had lots of different laughs for lots of different situations, but this was his real one and it wasn’t meant to make anyone else feel better like most of his other ones. “The Creator does hate ya, doesn’t she? Of all the men in the whole fuckin’ world, it was you that fell in love with the biggest cunt to ever walk the earth. Can’t tell ya how many times I’ve sat around and thought about if it had been me that walked up to her that night in Penny’s Place.” He slapped Wicket’s shoulder. “Saved me from a lifetime of sorrow.”
“All she would have done to you is rub your belly and sent ya on your way. Always thought ya were a mutt.”
“Always was a smart lass.” They both knew better. Yormir was the only one of Wicket’s men that Iris could put up with for more than a few minutes. She’d smile when she saw it was him at the door, glared like one of the three devils at everyone else.
Yormir undid his pants. The sound of piss making a puddle on the ground was the background to his voice. “Ya got a bigger problem than ol’ Iris right now.”
“What’s that?”
He sniffed the air, making sure none of the others had come looking for them. He leaned slightly closer, still pissing. “Afraid Lace don’t like ya much.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” Wicket kept his eyes on the moon until there was no more splashing.
“He’s gonna take over this trip of ours and have us fightin’ fights we don’t need t’be fightin’.” Yormir did a little hop to get his pants back into place. “I dunno about you, but I don’t like fightin’ no more. Took a while but I realized it ain’t as fun as I thought to kill a man. Might put their body in the dirt but their spirit don’t ever leave ya alone. I don’t care if they’re Lotus or not. I ain’t killin’ anyone unless I don’t got no other choice.”
“He won’t like that. Acts like killin’ is the only way to get his dick hard.”
Yormir’s not-so-white teeth peeked out from between the bushes of hair all around his lips. “Eh. I don’t give a rat’s ass what guys like him like or not.”
Wicket thought about that for a bit. He wondered if he could be that strong, without his magic. There wasn’t a man out there he couldn’t tame for a bit if he had to but he hated doing it these days. He used to walk into a room and win over every man, woman, and child in seconds with or without his magic. Making people love him came naturally. Always reckoned it just made sense for a guy like him. But now, the only way to get someone to smile at him was with his magic. Didn’t feel right. Not at all. At first he’d tried to make friends any way he could, fighting harder to please other people than himself. When that didn’t work he took up getting to know himself instead of others but that led to feeling pretty lonely.
“You’re tryin’ too hard,” Yormir said. He took the bottle from Wicket and finished off what was left. “You ain’t gonna be able to stay up all night every night tryin’ to keep everyone safe.”
He turned to Yormir. The Old Wolf turned to him.
“Just wanted to get things off to a good start,” Wicket said. “Like you said, Lace is gonna take over at some point.”
The conversation headed down a path only a true friend could see to take it.
“You ain’t thinkin’ about cuttin’ and runnin’ are ya?” Yormir asked.
“Course I’m thinkin’ about it. But I don’t think I’m gonna do it. Not this time.”
“Alright. But if you do-”
“You’ll be right there with me, I know.”