55 – Right and Wrong

“Let’s rest in that patch of grass.” Haley pointed to a small, overgrown field on the edge of a nearby apple orchard. “I see a livestock trough by that old fence.” Ward saw what she meant and nodded. As they turned to the side of the road, she added, “I’ll keep a watch while I do my forms, and you can do your magic.”

“Sounds like a plan.” After they rode down the slight berm and the horses clopped onto the hard soil under the tall, yellowing grass, Ward slid out of Nutmeg’s saddle and untied his spear, hefting it down. He glanced over at Haley and nodded toward Wind Queen. “Want me to try it on your sword?”

“Hmm. I don’t know how to fight with it properly, but if you can enchant it to land a solid blow…” She slowly began to nod, rubbing her arms where they stood out bare from her leather vest. “Let’s try it! It’s getting cold, don’t you think?”

Ward tugged on the lapel of his wool coat. “I don’t feel it.”

Haley stared at his hand, where it clutched the fabric. “Your wound healed up nicely.” Ward frowned and held the appendage in front of himself, turning it front to back, flexing his fingers open and closed. The torn, burned flesh was all but gone, and fresh, healthy-looking skin had filled in. He peeled away a tag of dried, dead skin and let it flutter to the ground.

“Yeah, that stuff the marshal had was pretty good. I did feel kind of sick at first, though. I much prefer the potion we found in the catacombs.”

Haley walked Wind Queen over to the trough and peered into it. She called out, “Rainwater, I think! It seems clear enough.”

Ward grabbed Nutmeg’s reins and walked over. “Would the horses drink if it was bad?”

“If they were desperate, yes, but these two beauties aren’t that thirsty; they’d turn their noses up if it were foul.” Haley stroked Wind Queen as she spoke. “Isn’t that right, my lovely girl?” The horse snuffed her hair, and Haley giggled as she got out of the way so the big animal could drink. Nutmeg joined her without Ward’s urging, dipping his muzzle into the water.

“All right. Let me prepare this spell.” Ward chose a patch of relatively green grass and sat down with his grimoire, flipping it open to the “true strike” spell. Ten minutes later, he was watching the words imprint themselves into the metal of his dagger—sharp, jagged, glowing symbols that strummed a primal note in his chest. He looked into his mind, saw the words still ready, and picked his spear up off the grass. Laying it on his lap, he prepared to cast the spell again, but then Haley broke out of her rhythmic movements and jogged toward the road. Ward followed her with his eyes and saw a cart approaching on the main road, heading toward them from out of town.

“Nothing to worry about, I think,” Haley called. “Looks like a cart with some empty apple baskets stacked in the back.” At her words, Ward looked down at his spear and said, “Ghruvon Truvik Prakhun.” The words echoed in the air around him, stirring up dust and broken blades of grass, and then they pounded into the wooden haft, carving the same glowing runes as he’d seen in the dagger’s blade. He looked back to Haley and watched her wave at an elderly woman and man as they pulled the wagon to a stop on the side of the road.

She called out, “Hello there.”

The old man’s voice warbled as he replied, “Heya, missy. What you folks doing there on Graymane’s soil? Best beware!”

“Beware?”

“There’s a devil living on them lands.” He gathered a wad of phlegm and spat it onto the gravel road.

“You see how people use that word?” Grace asked, suddenly sitting beside Ward. “Is it any wonder I object to the label?”

“Uh-huh,” Ward grunted, too focused on Haley’s conversation to pay her much attention.

“Ben, don’t be so crude,” the woman admonished, tugging on his sleeve. “Let’s go! This is no place to linger.” She spoke a bit louder, looking past the old fellow to Haley. “You hear that, girl? No place to linger!”

Haley waved. “Thank you! We’ll be moving on soon.”

As the wagon trundled away, Haley walked back to the patch of grass, and Ward gestured to the horses. “Get me your sword.” Looking into his mind, he could still see the words there, a bit dimmer, with less defined edges, but still there.

“You can cast it three times?” Grace asked, leaning close, peering at the spear where Ward had laid it beside himself.

“Gonna find out.” When Haley handed him the sword, still in its black leather scabbard, he was surprised by its weight. He tugged the leather-wrapped hilt, and the blade came free of the scabbard with a smooth, faintly metallic ring. It was probably about a yard long and close to three inches from edge to edge. The point was sharp, and the edges looked like he could probably shave with them. What caught Ward’s attention, though, were the runes. Up and down both sides of the sword-blade were dozens of jagged runes etched into the bright metal. They were dark, almost like they’d been cut with something hot that had melted the metal, taking away its mirror finish.

He gripped the leather hilt in both hands and lifted it before him, instantly enjoying its heft. “Formidable.”

“My father always talked about how it was made of an ore you can’t find on Cinder. I wish I’d paid more attention to the story.”

Ward nodded, frowning in contemplation as he turned the sword in his hands, admiring the gleaming metal. “I thought it was steel.”

Haley knelt in front of him, sitting on her heels. “Maybe my father was just telling tall tales.”

“Well, let’s see what happens when I cast this spell on it.” Ward laid the sword across his knees and, once again, focused on the spell in his head. “Ghruvon Truvik Prakhun.” Haley winced and clapped her hands to her ears as the words sprang out, echoing in the air despite them being in an open field. They seemed to rush around them like a miniature sirocco; then, in a crescendo, they smashed into the sword. This time, they didn’t etch themselves into the metal, at least not anywhere Ward could see, but the runes already stamped or burned into the blade flared with baleful red light. They glowed for several heartbeats and then slowly faded.

“Did it work?” Haley asked, breathless.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

Grace sniffed, leaning close to peer at the sword and its once more inert runes. “I think it just triggered the magic that was in the sword. That, or you're trying to enchant too much at once. You might not be able to do more than two at a time.”

Ward sighed and clambered to his feet, holding the sword up in the light. “Grace thinks I might be trying to enchant too much. Maybe the spell can’t affect more than a couple of weapons at once. It did something, though…” Again, Ward turned the blade in the sunlight, trying to see if anything looked different.

Haley held out her hand, and Ward gave her the sword. “I’ll tell you this much: I’ve never seen the runes glow like that. Perhaps the sword’s magic won’t allow another enchantment?”

“Yeah, maybe.” He turned to the horses and saw them both grazing peacefully. “If I call Nevkin out and give him a chance to prepare, he might kill me with that spell he used in the tavern. Or, I guess he could use another—I don’t know what he can do. I mean, before I get a chance to react. I feel like the smart thing would be to jump him. You know, take him unawares.” As soon as he said the words, Ward felt guilty; hadn’t Haley gotten involved in enough dirty, killing business? “I feel wrong thinking like that, though.” The words came out limply—a pathetic attempt to save face.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Haley didn’t speak at first. She turned her chin up and stared at the gray-blue sky and the distant clouds. After a minute, she looked at him with such trusting, hopeful eyes that Ward’s stomach did a little flip. As she spoke, his mind began to race, trying to think of a way to get her out of the situation. “It’s a dilemma. You promised Marshal Aldiss that you would duel Nevkin. Would you be able to report to the mayor that you did so? I mean, if you, instead, murdered him?” When Ward scowled, frowning deeply as he scratched the beard growing along his jaw, she must have thought he was upset with her because she hastily added, “I wouldn’t blame you, Ward, and I’d support whatever report you made—”

“Don’t do that,” he grunted, walking over to the horses. She was a little slow to follow, and when he glanced back and saw her crestfallen expression, he stopped. “I mean, don’t compromise your values for me. I should know better than to propose something like that around you ‘cause you feel like you owe me something. You don’t, though. Anyway, I don’t want to feel dirty about this shit. Nevkin’s the bad guy here. He took my artifact. He abandoned us, and he’s been killing people left and right around here. That’s just here, too! Who’s to say what he got up to between leaving Tarnish and coming to this valley?”

Haley nodded, slowly coming to join him by the horses. “So?”

“So, I’ll be damned if that guy’s gonna make me turn into the bad guy. I’ve already pushed the boundaries of that, going around cracking skulls in the middle of the night.”

Haley’s voice was small as she added, “And helping me bury my victim—”

“Hey!” Ward grabbed her hand, surprised, as always, by how hot they felt. “We’re the good guys here, all right? Come on. Let’s go see if that shitbird wants to come peacefully or if I’m going to have to put him down.” With that, Ward mounted Nutmeg, and Haley leaped into Wind Queen’s saddle.

Perhaps feeling invigorated from their brief rest or eager to put their business with Nevkin behind them, they took off at a canter down the narrow lane, rushing through the tall trees lining the way. At first, Ward thought they were just older apple trees, but, looking closer, he saw they were different—taller with thicker trunks and broader leaves. They encroached on the lane, pitching the path into deep shadow, and the air became noticeably cooler. Ward could feel his nose and ears getting numb, and he pulled his hat down snugly and lifted the collar on his coat. He glanced at Haley, still wearing her vest over short sleeves. “Cold?”

She had to yell to be heard over the pounding hooves. “Not since I did my forms! Gopah keeps me warm!”

Ward threw her a thumbs up, but then he felt Grace’s presence as she spoke into his ear, “You’re going to get yourself killed trying to be a hero for her. Just hide out in the bushes. When Nevkin comes out, use your dagger—throw it! The spell will make sure it hits home. Why give him a chance to kill you?”

Ward’s scowl returned, redoubled, but he didn’t respond. Part of the reason he didn’t say anything was because she was right. The smart thing to do was to jump the guy and take him out, leaving none the wiser. On the other hand, no matter what he told himself, he cared about what Haley thought of him. He cared about his promise to the marshal—a fellow lawman. Ward smirked at that thought. Was he a lawman anymore?

He’d already stepped way outside the bounds of the law, whether you looked at it through the lens of a detective back on Earth or the local ideology of right and wrong. It wasn’t okay to break into a guy’s house to threaten his life after brutalizing his security. Right? Ward shook his head. That night felt like a blur, almost like he’d been under the influence of something, but he hadn’t been, had he? No, he’d just been fed up. Fed up with murderers and thugs jumping him and fed up with seeing Haley hurt. Which brought him around to the current situation. He felt like he had to do this right. He had to help Haley find her way back to believing in “Good,” or, if that was too much to ask, at least in right and wrong.

As he finished the thought, he saw daylight ahead and realized the dense grove was coming to an end, which meant they’d be closing in on Nevkin’s likely hideout. He pulled on the reins, slowing Nutmeg to a walk. When Haley followed suit and looked his way, he nodded down the road. “Almost there.” It only took a minute or two to clear the last of the big, sky-shrouding trees, and when the sun hit his face, Ward breathed more easily. It was like the light was chasing the dark musings away.

“There’s the house.” Haley pointed, and Ward looked to see a low, stone fence running alongside the lane. About a hundred yards up, he could see a broad, rust-spotted, wrought-iron gate, propped open and held in place by a big stone block that looked to have once been part of the fence. An overgrown cobbled lane led up from the dirt and gravel path to a big, run-down manor on the hill. Ward could see dozens of missing slates on the roof, and, as his eyes drifted over the structure, he saw siding in need of paint and many gaps in the mortar between stone blocks.

“Looks like the place was on its last legs before Nevkin got here,” he grunted, clicking his tongue to urge Nutmeg toward the gate. Even in its disrepair, the building was big and imposing. He figured it had a few bedrooms upstairs, and the bottom level had a wing that stretched away from the road where he could envision a large hall or several good-sized rooms.

“It’s strange to think about the family that could afford to build a place like this and how they somehow let it go to ruin. It makes me think of my parents’ home in the country—I wonder what Sonder’s done with it.”

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever he did, Marshal Aldiss will undo. Put that asshole out of your mind.” When Ward slid out of the saddle and tied Nutmeg by the gate, Grace was there again, frowning at him.

“You’re really going to walk right up to him? He’s going to kill you, Ward!”

“Grace thinks Nevkin’s gonna kill me.”

Haley looked up from where she was tying Wind Queen’s lead to the fence. “Don’t you think maybe you should listen?” She looked up the rough drive to the big, dark house. “Maybe we should surprise him.”

Ward patted Nutmeg and sighed. He wanted to tell Haley to leave, that he’d handle things, but he knew she wouldn’t go and that he’d probably upset her. They were “partners,” right? With her there, though, he couldn’t take Grace’s advice. Haley had already killed one man by accident in a fit of rage. Her whole family was dead because of… Ward shook his head, trying to banish the litany of regrets running through his mind. “It might not make much sense right now, Haley, but we’re not going to murder this shithead. If he wants to fight, I’ll fight him, but we’re not going to jump him from the bushes.” He glared at Grace. “Got it?”

“Your funeral. At least tell Haley to stay back.”

Ward continued to stare at Grace. Something about how she was acting was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. When she looked away, the fire in her eyes dimly smoldering, he turned to Haley. “If he wants to fight, you should stay back. You know, save your Gopah for an emergency.”

“I’ll be your second.”

Grace snorted. “Hah! As if he’s going to follow any dueling formalities!” She stomped up the path toward the house, still ranting, “He’ll probably blast you as soon as the door opens. He’s probably got ten men loading up blunderbusses right now! They’re probably watching…” Her voice grew faint, and Ward tuned her out and looked at Haley.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Is Grace talking to you?”

“She was. I think she’s worried about us. I was serious, though. Stand well to the side; the mayor said his spell killed three men at once, but they were all standing together.”

“I will, Ward. Don’t forget your spear.”

“Right.” Ward untied his spear and took it down from where he’d lashed it to his saddlebag. “Well? Shall we?”

Haley unhooked her father’s sword from Wind Queen’s tack and slung it around her waist. She had to cinch it so tightly that a foot of leather hung out from the buckle. “I’ll need to get this fitted.”

“Yeah, but that works for now.” Ward started up the path with his spear held ready, his hands loose around the haft as he mentally prepared himself for violence. He couldn’t think of a more fitting lair for a murderous, would-be Warlock. The house was foreboding in its ancient, run-down grandeur. The nearby trees were full of blackbirds that squawked and cawed, and the chilly fall breeze blew leaves over the overgrown cobbles, adding to the weird, spooky atmosphere of the place.

Haley seemed to be thinking the same thing. “It’s creepy here. Did it just get darker?” She glanced up at the sky. Ward looked up, too, shading his eyes. It had been bright and more blue than gray when they stopped to water the horses, but now it was full of clouds.

“Sun’s hiding behind the clouds, that’s all.” He turned, looking back toward the gate where they’d left the horses, and that’s when he heard the pounding of hooves. Haley immediately whirled around, scanning the lane back toward the dark grove.

“Someone comes!”

“One horse?”

“I think so!” She turned back to the house, then back to the gate, and Ward could tell what she was thinking. They were caught in the open and had no idea if Nevkin was in the house or if that was him riding toward them.

Ward planted the butt of his spear between two cobbles and leaned on it. “Relax.” They were about halfway up the cobbled lane, still a good twenty-five yards from the wrought-iron gate that opened into the house’s front courtyard. The closest tree was a stone’s throw off to his left, and he had a clear view of every angle. “No one’s gonna sneak up on us. If that’s Nevkin, we’ll talk to him here. If it’s not, we’ll deal with whatever it is.”

“Maybe it’s someone riding elsewhere…” Haley’s words petered out as a gray, dappled stallion burst out of the dark grove and thundered up the lane toward the gate where Wind Queen and Nutmeg were tied. Nutmeg whinnied and stomped his hooves, pulling at the lead Ward had looped over the railing, but it was for naught—the darkly clad rider didn’t even approach the gate. He jerked his stallion’s reins, and the horse screamed a terror-filled whinny as it thundered toward the low block wall and leaped.

“Jesus!” Ward straightened up and lifted his spear.

“It’s Nevkin!” Haley cried, and Ward saw she was right as the rider’s hood fell away, exposing his bald, tattooed head. The frothing stallion charged over the grassy hillside toward them, and suddenly, Ward was a lot less worried about a fair, properly called-out duel. He lifted the spear, preparing to throw, just as he heard Nevkin’s deep, resonant voice utter the first mind-bending, eye-bleeding, ear-rending word of power.