Short Story From "Sentinel" Series (Work In Progress)

Short story following two key characters from future book series. Essentially, I'm using the short story as a way to acclimate to writing within the universe and test out/find my style.

“Hurry and load that up so we can head out before the sun is on us,” Lysander said. The markets of Peivan were still pretty much dead, aside from the bakers, the single pair of city guards doing their patrols, and any others whose means of living required them awake the few precious hours before the first rays of light hit the river.

Lysander, and his partner Shyra, had an agreement with a particular vendor which allowed them open access to the vastness of supplies the man sold, and Shyra was loading up the last of those supplies on their mule. “You sure a month’s worth is all we’ll need for this one Lys?” she said, as he finished up with the vendor. The deal the two had with Marton was simple; he got first pick of the treasures that came back after their excursions, and they had unlimited access to his stores whenever they needed it. Both parties still required compensation for said treasures and stores, but it was a bond built on mutual benefit and respect, and these days it never hurt to have friends.

“I can’t imagine us being out there any longer than that honestly, unless you get us into something like Rudymyr again. Longest six months of my life, that.” Lys responded.

“Lys?” Marton asked.

“She’s the only person in this world, and the next, who can call me that,” Lysander said, as he lowered his gaze at the man, “and only because she won’t not.”

“Ahh, a real ball-breaker is she?” Marton said, with the implied elbow dig that older men always seem to have when discussing women.

“Not exactly… Let’s just keep it at she has particular tastes.”

A bewildered look flittered across the man’s face followed by the slight disappointment of one who realizes their joke did not land with the impact they had planned. “Well, I believe our business is concluded for now my friends,” he said, as Shyra walked up to the pair, “I wish you well in your travels, for your sakes and mine. Farewell.”

The man lumbered back to his shop as, in the early morning light, some other customers arrived. Lysander turned to Shyra and motioned for them to head back to the horses, “So what lecherous comments did Marton have this time?” Shyra asked, and seeing Lysander c**k his head said, “I’ve come to recognize his gestures.”

Lys knowingly laughed, “He kept it mild. Don’t worry, I defended your honor.”

Shyra punched him in the arm and smiled. “Well, thank you my chivalrous warrior.”

“Don’t mention it, damsel,” Lys retorted. That, of course, warranted another punch, and she didn’t hold back on this one. He knew it was coming though, nobody could talk to Shyra like that and escape unharmed, but because they were so close, a powerful punch is all he would receive, thankfully. He truly pitied anyone who became an enemy of hers. Shyra was a Sister of One, so not only was she the most talented archer he’d ever met, but she was also a powerful Mago Bello, a war mage. Her specialty in the use of Vis, energy, was amazing to behold in all honesty. Her martial and magical prowess was matched only by her beauty. She had soft features, a button nose, and full lips. She also had the light brown-olive skin, chestnut brown hair and dark blue eyes that announced her mixed background. Her acrobat’s body was all strength in its leanest form, and it was like a dancer lost in the dance whenever she moved, the very definition of grace.

“You’re lucky I love you Lys,” she said.

“I know, I know,” he said, “So are you ready for this one?”

“As opposed to any other trip we’ve made together, or…?”

“No, no. I just have an odd feeling about this trip.”

“Don’t do that, you know I HATE it when you do that. Plus, when has it ever truly meant anything more than trouble we’d be getting into anyway.”

“Oh, you mean like Rudymyr? Same kind of feeling.”

“Maybe so, but if I remember correctly, that was one of the best hauls we’ve ever had.”

“Very true…”

“So, let it go. We’ll take everything in stride like we always do.”

“I guess you’re right. Ok, let’s finish up and head out. Quite a ride ahead of us.”

They settled into a comfortable silence along the road; Lys atop Milfalc, his ever-faithful destrier, and Shyra riding her chestnut, whom she had aptly named Hazel after failing to find a name to rival Lys’ stallion’s. They both had the mule tied to each of their riding packs, a practice they had learned to put in place after chasing down one too many errant asses, which was not even close to a satisfying euphemism. They were in no rush as they moved along, but each kept the pace at a steady rate. The slower one moved along the roads, no matter the location of the roads, the more of a chance one made themselves a target for highwaymen and any other form of scavenging filth.

Most of the countries that covered the continent of Ruma were more akin to very large city-states, with only the largest having more than a capital and one to two sister cities, while the rest of the land was small rural towns and farm areas. Of course there were those countries whose wealth attributed to the size of their capital and sister cities, with some of the sister cities easily being able to fit three impoverished capitals inside its walls. Peivan fit the latter, as it was no more than one city, thusly its capital, and wide open land. As such the city barely had enough budget to maintain a respectable amount of city guards, let alone watch outside its walls. This was not a veteran rogue’s astute observation either, everyone knew the situation. From the poorest orphan on up to the previously mentioned filth. The difference between the two was that the filth made the roads theirs, and were coldly indifferent about who became their targets.

Lysander had hardly finished the thought when he saw a wagon about two hundred meters away that appeared to be broken down. With no horses or people around, and no movement that he could see, Lys motioned to Shyra to slow her horse. “You see anything,” he asked. Shyra’s scouting ability was priceless in situations like this; to this day, they had never been caught in an ambush they didn’t see coming first.

“Take Hazel, and give me a second,” she said as she stepped down from the horse and handed Lys the reins. She grabbed the quiver from her pack and proceeded off the road heading towards the broken wagon while maintaining cover among trees along the road. Since Lysander couldn’t see her either, his eyes stayed above the tree line where he’d be able to see her signal if she fell upon trouble.

This was a rare occasion as Shyra wasn’t seen unless she wanted to be, and she delighted in using her stealth capabilities in more frivolous ways against Lys, to his great annoyance. Though, he did have to admit that her pranks had actually improved his reaction time and actions over the years. He had no doubt that if he were ever caught unaware by a true enemy, he could handle the situation at least admirably. He had no delusions of his own combat skill, however. His talents were as a noble scavenger and good-hearted scoundrel. In short, he could talk his way out of most situations and had a naturally disarming charm, and for those situations he could not use his silver tongue, he had his dueling pistols. They were Citerian Dueling Flintlocks that he had custom made, matte black with silver filigree and rosewood grips as well as the feature which made them exclusively Citerian in design: the curved, razor-sharp blade which lived under the barrel. Also, each pistol’s barrel had “Primum Iecit” engraved within the silver filigree, almost as a hidden message that only he knew the meaning of. They were the perfect weapons for someone able to talk their way within striking distance, and the blades made close quarter combat not only feasible for the user, but damn near unlosable.  He was never further than a couple meters from his prized weapons. He ate, slept, and made Love with them by his side.

Shyra emerged from a nearby thicket with no arrows missing from her quiver and her bow still slung over her shoulder. She did have a pseudo stern look on her face however. She walked up and said, “Well I’ve good news and some neutral news.”

“Alright. How about giving me the neutral news first?” he said.

“Sure. So, we will be doing some fighting. Unless you want us to gain a few hours of travel time and risk losing the mule going around them. Which I doubt.”

“Ok, and the good news then?”

Shyra laughed, “They’re f*****g idiots, and sloppy too. I saw, at the least, four different ways to break the ambush. They’re just undisciplined road trash. Shouldn’t take too long to take care of them. We could probably even do it your lazy, boring way if you like.” He heard the twist of those last words in a friendly nod to his own proclivity of talking his way out of situations instead of fighting, but he knew that it had more to do with her strict sense of honor than his preference of avoiding a fight when he could. Her background made it hard for her to avoid destroying those she viewed as dishonorable, though it had tempered in her years spent with Lys. She wouldn’t let her code affect the situation when there was a profit to be made, or if it was detrimental to a deal they had struck. Though, she wasn’t quiet about letting things slide either. He liked to think they had both influenced one another for the better however. He thought himself to have at least a smidge more honor and integrity than he used to, maybe even a bit more than a smidge. 

“Yes, yes, well I do have a very efficient charm,” he smiled, “so how many are there?”

“Six, and none of them look to have any weapons training. Two archers and four melee, two of which had shields near them, but not in hand. As I said, undisciplined. They must think their sightlines are enough that they’d be able to ready up in time.”

“Well you’re the tactical one of us, all I have is my mouth as you love to point out, so how do you want to handle it?”

She just smirked.

“Whirling Dervish?”

“Whirling Dervish.”

“In the name of the Mother, I think you take far too much joy in dangling me as bait with these strategies of yours. One could say it’s almost purposeful, and this one does,” he said, referencing himself with a thumb.

“Well that very efficient charm sure does come in handy then, does it not?”

Lysander leveled his eyes at her, let them linger, and then chuckled. For all her seriousness and combat training, Shyra did have a very dry, acute sense of humor. And he appreciated it when it came out to play. Sometimes it was truly a burden being the only funny one. Lots of expectations. “Hardy har har. So we leave Hazel off the road over here, or shall I tie her to Milfalc as my extra horse?”

“We’ll leave her here over in the thicket. Bringing her along may tip them off about an extra rider, idiots they may be, but don’t want to take unnecessary chances,” she said. 

Author's Note

Nothing has been truly proofread, so ignore grammar/spelling. Main focus is on content and writing style.

Reviews

[Brutis140]

Great short story so far. I got a really good sense of who the characters were and a good amount of information about the world. Looking foreward to reading more!

[LupusTacita]

Thank you! Will post updates as they come.